


Vague Affection

by fallenapple



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anger Management, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Bottom Severus Snape, Drunk Sex, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, Fuckbuddies, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Luna Lovegood is a Good Friend, M/M, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Severus Snape, Powerful Harry, Recreational Drug Use, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Tags Are Hard, Top Harry, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, drarry are bffs, harry is wild but actually sad, slow burn emotionally but not physically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:01:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23817316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenapple/pseuds/fallenapple
Summary: Harry doesn't know how to be Harry Potter now that the war is over.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Other(s), Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 92
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok this is my first HP fic. It's been really fun to write and I hope people enjoy it. there are prob some errors, defintely with tense, so I'm sorry about that /: anyways I hope it's ok and pls be nice. thanks for reading!

Harry Potter could give less of a fuck about Kingsley Shacklebolt’s commencement party. Kingsley won the election with a landslide vote about three weeks ago and was just now deciding to celebrate. It had been a month since the war and since Voldemort died. Kingsley had been acting as interim Minister for Magic during that time anyways. Harry doesn’t see what all the fuss is about now. 

He’s been forced to give speeches and make appearances at what seems like dozens of ministry engagements and funerals and ceremonies. It seems ever since Harry was thrown back into his body after the afterlife’s version of King’s Cross that he’s now downgraded from being Dumbledore’s bitch to Kingsley’s. Perhaps Harry Potter really is no one without someone else holding the strings. 

Harry’s had enough.

He’s done fucking enough. He should get the chance to rest, he should get the opportunity to do nothing and think about nothing. To just wallow and drink himself into oblivion. Harry’s found it’s the only way that he can begin the long and arduous process of being Harry Potter - the boy who lived twice and defeated the Dark Lord - now living in a world that has been ravaged and left empty and hollow. Much like Harry himself.

He’s tired of being a figurehead. Sue him. He didn't win the war alone, so why does all the attention have to rest on him? All the praise and expectation and judgement and eyes? He wants none of it - never has. Doesn’t he at least deserve to be on the sidelines for once in his life? 

He sighs, taking another swig of his whiskey, before adjusting the collar of his robes and ruffling his dark hair with a towel. He forced himself into the shower twenty minutes ago, forced himself to bathe and wash his hair. And now he’s in his dress robes, expensive black fabric with silver accents and a black silk collar. His shoes are shined and his hair is drying, clean and smelling of Sirius’ shampoo. He buys the same brand every time.

He’ll need to cut his hair soon. It’s already almost reaching his collarbone. Perhaps he should let it grow out, see what happens then. Maybe he’ll look different enough to where no one will recognize him. Then he sees how unruly his hair is, how green his eyes, the distinctive circular glasses - and knows there’s not a chance that he will ever have peace after all this. 

It’s ironic, really. Peace is what he fought for, for choice and freedom, and he doesn't even get that. Not for himself, anyways. Harry Potter...the fucking savior boy who can’t even save himself. He drains his whiskey glass, relishing in the burn of it along his throat, before apparating to the gates of the Minister’s new home. He sighs as he stands there, watching a couple filter in through the doors. He’s been to Kingsleys’ office at the Ministry a dozen times, and to his home only twice. It’s large and overbearing and gaudy and makes Harry cringe.  
He glides down the gravel path to the steps before pushing through the heavy doors himself. There’s loud music and even louder chatter. Ministry officials and pureblood socialites, Hogwarts staff and Order of the Phoenix members. It’s always the same.

He sighs; he feels like it’s become a staple in containing himself, big deep sighs that move his entire chest. He marvels amusedly at the way he stands taller than some of the men around him, equal to others. He’s spent so long being looked down upon. He supposes that if there’s one great thing that’s come from him aging - it’s his body finally deciding to develop from a boy into a man. 

Some of his hair falls into his eyes and he shakes it out of his face impatiently as a waiter walks by with a tray of tall glasses. Harry hails him down, ignoring the blatant stares and taking the glass of champagne with a nod of thanks. He can see Kingsley surrounded by a crowd as he converses deeply about some policy or another. He looks away in hopes Kingsley won’t see him just yet. 

With stark relief, he spots distinctive orange hair in the corner of his vision and walks briskly over. 

Arthur smiles before exclaiming happily, “Harry! We were wondering when you would show.”

He smiles, knowing it’s forced and false and not caring all the same, “Mr. Weasley.” He looks to the right of him with a polite nod, “Bill.”

Bill nods back. “Hullo, Harry.” It’s still strange - to see a scar slashed down his face. 

Harry looks around them, “Has Ron and ‘Mione showed yet?”

Arthur nods quickly, “Oh yes, they were just with us but Minerva and Hermione went off to discuss something.”

Bill smirked before adding, “And of course Ron followed.”

Harry nodded, “I see.” His eyes flicked over the masses disinterestedly before snagging on a familiar face. He was leaning against the wall with a surly expression and an almost genuine smile came upon Harry’s lips at the sight. He cleared his throat, “Well, it was nice to see you two. I’m sure I'll be seeing you later on.”

They nod as he walks away, but he can still feel their eyes trailing him.

He joins his friend against the wall, leaning languidly next to him against the dark mahogany, taking a deep swallow of his drink. “Some party, isn't it?”

Draco smirks, “Something like that. Wondered if you were still going to show up to these blasted things or if you'd had enough.”

“Oh, I think I've had far too much actually but alas here I am. Harry bloody Potter, savior of the wizarding world as we know it, vanquisher of Dark Lords everywhere.”

Draco sends him a commiserating look, almost looking more miserable than Harry. “How do you think I feel? Draco bloody Malfoy, who should be in Azkaban and tried to kill bloody Dumbledore.” 

Harry smiles blandly, “Cheers.”

They knock their glasses together before tipping their heads back. Draco sighs and Harry wonders if they share the sighing habit as much as they share their newfound disdain for wizarding society. 

Draco’s been forced to attend every event and funeral and election and trial, including his own. Kingsley has them both under lock and key, though Draco actually doesn’t have much choice in the matter. It’s part of the deal he made with Kingsley so he wouldn’t end up in Azkaban with his father. Kingsley intends to integrate Draco Malfoy back into wizarding society, giving him the perfect example to display how much control he has, what powerful people he now has under his thumb. 

Azkaban or being Kingsley’s cronie? Harry doesn’t know what’s worse. He’s never been to Azkaban and from what he learned from Sirius and his experience with dementors it seems rather brutal - but being Kingsely’s cronie fucking blows. 

Harry’s in the same boat as Draco. Not because he would be denied basic human rights otherwise but because Harry doesn’t remember how to be Harry Potter, the boy who saves, who represents light and hope, and brave Gryffindor traits. Not anymore. Kingsley tells him what to do, what to say, and even though it makes him wish he had died after all - allowing his life to be dictated all over again - Harry doesn’t know what he would be without it. He thinks of all the people that love him and that he died for...and he wants to remember why he cared in the first place. 

Kingsley seemed like the best bet after everything, the best solution to filling Harry’s empty husk with all the things that made him Harry Potter before he died. 

Harry and Draco seemed to find themselves together at these functions after a while, both seeking the shadows to avoid attention. It usually never worked; they looked like mirror opposites. They were of the same height, both tall now after all these years, but that was where the outward similarities stopped. Malfoy was thin and pale with stark pureblood features and that fucking platinum hair. And Harry Potter was broad with muscle coating his limbs and a rugged turn of his jaw. He had dark brows and bronze skin and green fucking eyes. Round glasses and unruly black hair that covered a distinctive scar. 

Everyone knew them, knew what they looked like, knew who they were. They all had some idea of who they were going to be ten years from now probably. It was not really the smartest idea to try to hide in plain sight together. It usually did more harm than good. 

But they were friends these days and neither cared about much of anything at this point in time. They were both in Kingsley’s pocket and reeling from the war, sick of everything and everyone. They had both changed. Solemn and somber, intoxicated much of the time. They were sharp and sarcastic and rude - overly false when they had to be polite. 

They hated each other growing up for reasons beyond them and now they were friends for reasons even further beyond them. Harry thinks they relish in finally finding someone who perfectly understands what they’re feeling after the war, who's having to experience the same thing, though on opposite spectrums, when they would both rather be anywhere else, anyone else. They'd probably leave together tonight like they usually do and get rip roaring drunk at Grimmauld or Malfoy Manor if his mother was at Andromeda's. 

They liked that people were too unsure to approach Harry to praise or ask him for favors when Malfoy was at his side and that in turn they were too wary to approach Draco to scorn or spite him when their savior was so near.

Nobody seemed to understand their new friendship. Ron and Hermione hated it; Malfoy’s Slytherin friends didn't particularly care for it either. But then again Draco and Harry didn't much care for anything or anyone these days. 

Another waiter came by and they hailed him down, trading their empty glasses for full ones. 

Draco took a swig before angling his body towards him, “Did you get your letter?”

He peered at him over the rim of his glass, “What letter?”

Draco sighed, “You’re hopeless. McGonagall sent out Hogwarts letters.”

Harry hummed, realizing it was about time for students to receive their letters. Though he was confused as to how it pertained to him. “Why on earth would I get one?”

Malfoy twisted his lips into an expression Harry knew Malfoy only wore when he thought something was particularly funny. “They want us all to come back for an eighth year, all those affected by the war.”

Harry blinked at him, his lip curling in confusion, “They want what?”

Malfoy laughed at his expression, almost giggling, before taking another sip. “Yeah, that was my reaction as well.”

He shook his head, mystified. “Are you going?”

Malfoy sighed, looking away, “Minerva got Kingsley’s okay to invite us all back. He thinks it would be good. And...I don’t know what the fuck I can do without NEWTs anyways, especially being who I am. So, yeah.” He laughed under his breath before continuing, “Yeah. I think I’m going back to bloody Hogwarts.”

Harry can’t help but gawk at him a little. He couldn’t even imagine going back. Taking fucking exams and sitting in front of professors, getting house points taken and sitting in the bloody great hall, living in a fucking dormitory. But he does understand where Malfoy is coming from. Kingsley and Minerva usually get what they want, especially when it’s concerning the two of them. Harry doesn’t have his NEWTs either, though he doesn’t know what he would want them for, what he wants to do for the rest of his life. If he wants to do anything. It probably doesn’t even matter in the long run. Anyone would hire Harry Potter.

Harry sighed, “You know if you go, I'm gonna have to go too, right?”

Malfoy smirks at that, but he avoids his eyes all the same. “If you really don't want to return, you could probably convince them.”

He narrows his eyes, “What? You think I actually want to go back to Hogwarts?”

Malfoy shakes his head, “I can tell you don’t, not now anyway. But,” he blows out a breath, turning to face him fully, “Harry, it could be good. Better than this. We’d just be students, it’s basically a free year before we really have to start with Kingsley’s bullshit. It’ll be a reprieve from this every fucking night, from the Ministry. We could just go to Hogwarts and study for NEWTs and fly on the quidditch pitch and drink on top of the Astronomy tower. It - it could be good.” He whispers, “Better than this, anyways. I don't have much of a choice either way.” He takes another gulp of his drink, facing forward again. 

Harry sighs, his expression softening. “You’re right.”

Malfoy jerks his head to look at him, his eyes hesitant and hopeful, and Harry almost smiles at seeing how much Draco actually wants this and most importantly how he doesn't want to do this alone, that he wants Harry there. “Yeah, Malfoy. I guess it's better than this.” 

Draco grins after a moment. 

Harry swallows another gulp of his drink, a smirk on his lips, before he laughs exasperatedly. “Back to fucking Hogwarts. I can’t believe it.”

Malfoy shakes his head with him, just as awed at the situation, before he says, “You love Hogwarts. I know you. It’ll be better, I promise.”

Harry drains his glass, “As long as I have liquor in my system and we won’t have a curfew...I suppose it won’t be so bad.” 

Malfoy’s eyes trail past him, “I guess here’s our chance to ask.” 

Harry blinked, following his eyesight, before sighing. Professor McGonagall was approaching. Draco and Harry share a glance before watching her come closer. She stands in front of them with a small smile.

“Boys,” she says rather imperiously.

Harry feels a curl of amusement. She’s in her billowing skirt and robe, her hair tightly pinned, prim and proper. Her face is lined, and the picture of authority. 

“I was just speaking to Miss Granger about her rather extensive concerns and ideas for this new term at Hogwarts. I expect you two have received your letters by this point.”

They both nodded. Malfoy sent him a subtle condescending look and Harry rolled his eyes. It’s not his fault that he practically disregards all written correspondence, what with all the bloody owls he receives on a daily basis.

“Well then, will either of you be attending?”

The way she’s looking it's obvious she expects it of them, especially Harry, as her eyes narrow on him and stay there.

He smiles blandly, “We were just talking about how we both thought it would be swell to go back, one last time.”

McGonagall raised a brow, “Is that right?”

Malfoy nods, “Quite.”

McGonagall looks between them with a suspicious glare, “And do you have any questions or concerns? I do expect both of you to set an example for the younger students, to help promote academic growth and inter house unity. I expect both of you to put just as much effort, if not more, into your studies.”

Malfoy nods again, “I’ll treat it as any other year at Hogwarts, ma’am. If not more significant for this opportunity we’re being given.”

McGonagall nods curtly, “Very good, Mr. Malfoy.” She turns her eyes on Harry, “And you, Mr. Potter?”

“I was actually wondering about a few things, Professor. About living arrangements, and if we’re allowed any freedoms now we’re considered adults.”

She peered at him with cunning eyes, “There has been another wing constructed exclusively for eighth years to stay. There will be two to a room, and you may room with whomever you wish, opposite sex or not. I have no control over what you all do in your free time. I cannot enforce a curfew, but you will obey your professors and abide by their teaching and rules. You will complete your assignments and participate in classes. You will make me aware if you ever have need to leave the school grounds, and you will be at dinner in the great hall every evening. You will watch how you behave and speak in front of your professors and the younger years. Am I understood?”

He nods, pleasantly surprised, “That sounds quite fair, Professor. And quidditch…?”

An almost fond smile comes upon her features, “I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but it wouldn’t be fair to your peers if eighth years were allowed to participate. Though you are allowed to use the pitch at your leisure as long as it isn't booked.”

“I see.” He feels a curl of disappointment but he understands. “Thank you, Professor.”

She nods, scanning the two of them, “Well, then. I look forward to seeing both of you at the start of term.” Before she stalks off, she looks back at Draco, “And Mr. Malfoy, do make sure that your Slytherin peers give due consideration in returning. I’d like to have all of you back for this last year, if at all possible.” 

Malfoy nods after a moment, “I can make no promises, Professor, but I'll do my best.” 

“That’s all I ask, Mr. Malfoy.” She glances to Harry, “Of either of you.”

And with that, she walks away, toward Susan Bones. 

“Do your friends want to go back?” He asks as he watches his Head of House greet Susan with a warm smile. 

Malfoy hums contemplatively, “They will if I do. Especially with these new regulations for the eighth years.''

Harry nods, “I honestly didn’t expect all of that but...Hogwarts is sounding more appealing by the minute.”

They share an amused glance, toasting each other before drinking again. Malfoy turns to face him, “We should have quidditch games of our own.”

He raised a brow, “I like where your head’s at, Malfoy.”

Draco smiles before pausing, “I wonder if he’ll be going back as well.”

Harry blinks, turning to see who he’s referring to, and quickly scowls. Severus fucking Snape. He bloody hopes not. He’s had enough of Snape to last him a fucking lifetime.

He gets it, really. He does. He was a spy, and Dumbledore’s man through and through. He was in love with his mother and swore a vow but Harry really doesn’t care. He doesn't have any personal feelings towards the man. He’s past that, he’s not a fucking child anymore. 

But the man’s a massive prick. 

Harry saved his life from Nagini’s poison and still hasn’t gotten a bloody thank you, or even an apology for being a stain on his childhood. But it's fine. Snape doesn't owe him anything, no one does. 

But the thing is...he went and visited Snape at St. Mungo’s. Snape was still in the recovery stages, limping a little, the scars still livid and his face lined with exhaustion and pain and Snape pretty much scorned the day Harry was born and then told him not to come back. And okay...message received. He hadn’t seen him since and really didn’t care to ever again. 

But there he was. 

He didn’t seem so big or frightening after everything. He and Draco were almost an inch taller than him and he just looked like a sallow, old man who liked to swaddle himself in his dark robes. Harry smirked at the thought. Snape was gliding around now, his face expressionless, big hulking nose protruding and his eyes as narrow as ever, his lanky hair hanging to his shoulders. Harry stiffened as Snape’s gaze passed over him. Snape paused as well. Harry scoffed and turned away, only to see Draco inviting him over. 

Harry scowled, “Don’t you dare.” 

Draco glared, “I want to talk to him. Don’t be a child.”

Harry glared back, “If anyone’s a child - it’s him. He’s the one who hates me because I look like my dead father.”

Malfoy shoots him an exasperated look, “If you don't have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

He laughs incredulously, “When have you ever lived by that rule, Draco Malfoy?” He makes sure to put just enough emphasis on his last name. 

Draco laughs with him after a moment, “Never. But we both should start.”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head, “Good luck with that. You may wish that he had been your father but I certainly don't feel the same.” Why Draco worships the ground Snape walks on, he’ll never understand. So he’s a talented wizard and a better spy. So he knows Occlumency and is the best bloody Potioneer the world has ever seen or some tripe. So what. 

Malfoy shushes him and Harry shoots him another glare. 

He hears the familiar click of the heels of boots and wipes his face of his irritation. He dons a blank face as he turns to face Severus Snape. 

He stands in front of them - without a drink. Does he even drink? Harry has never seen it. How does he do it? Harry would be banging his head on the fucking walls by now.

Snape’s face is stony and Harry feels that newfound urge to meddle and tease and confuse and tries to stifle it. 

“Draco.” His near black eyes flick over to Harry, “Potter.”

And then his eyes are back on Draco, his body pointedly angled towards him and away from Harry. 

He feels a smirk upon his lips. Harry really has no self control. 

Draco smiles, small and close-lipped. “Professor Snape. You look well.”

Snape nods, “I’ve recovered completely. And how are you, Draco?”

“Fine, all things considered.” He hesitates, “I received my Hogwarts letter today. Will you be returning to teaching?”

Snape smiles thinly, “I will be teaching Defense and will still be Head of Slytherin House. Will you-”

Before he can finish, Harry can’t help but interrupt. “Defense?”

He can see Snape stiffen but he doesnt turn to look at him. “Indeed, Potter. Defense.”  
His voice is steely and Harry is feeling endlessly amused. It’s so funny how important it is for Snape to hate him.

“How exciting. That’s the position you always wanted, right, Snape?”

Draco has stiffened as well and is sending Harry /the/ look. But Harry can’t help himself. He’s bored and drinking and very much doesn't want to be here. 

Snape is endlessly entertaining and mildly infuriating. 

Snape finally turns to face him, rather coldly, too. “What I want or have ever wanted is no concern of yours, Potter.” He spits his name like it's something foul, which is nothing new. But the anger, the contempt, is amusing Harry so much. Just a fucking question and Snape’s practically foaming at the mouth. What did Harry ever do to this man?

“Wow, so touchy, Snape. Just a simple question. Will you react so violently when I ask you something in the Defense classroom?”

His nostrils flare. “You will refer to me as Professor or you will not refer to me at all.”

Harry can’t help the shit eating grin on his lips. Snape has to tilt his chin up the slightest bit to look into his eyes and Harry loves it. Let Severus Snape try to loom over him now.

“Apologies, Professor. Slip of the tongue. Did you ask for the position or did McGonagall offer it to you?”

Snape’s practically trembling with his rage and Harry hasn’t even done anything.  
Draco quickly brings his attention back to him, talking quickly about the eighth year regulations for the year. About McGonagall wanting them to set an example. 

Snape turns to face Harry and it sends delight shooting through his sternum. “It continues to baffle me that they put you on a pedestal, Potter. You’re still an arrogant, idiotic brat of a child. And even worse you’re now a child playing a man. You reek of liquor and selfishness.”

Harry merely rolls his eyes. There’s truth to what he’s saying. Harry even agrees, he’s not fit to do much of anything at the moment. But he could care less. “It is rather baffling, isn’t it? Perhaps you should clink your glass and tell everyone so.”

Snape’s glare intensifies, his fists clenching at his sides. “Perhaps I won’t let you into my NEWT level defense class. How utterly fitting and hilarious would that be?”

Harry’s beyond amused and can’t help but let a small scoff and soft laugh leave him. “Please, they would have a riot if you pulled such a thing. Make banners in protest proclaiming that DADA is nothing without Harry Potter, that I saved the world by using such magic.”

Snape opens his mouth to reply with something scathing no doubt when Harry cuts him off, “Besides, Professor, I don’t think that would be very professional of you...would it?”

Snape grinds his teeth before gritting out, “Draco, I shall speak with you another time.” He turns and stalks off, his cloak billowing around him, before either of them can say anything else.

Draco looks at Harry exasperatedly and he shakes his head, “Don’t even. Did you hear what he said?”

Draco scowls, “That was unfair of him but you started it, Harry. He was content to ignore you before you started in on him.”

Harry swallowed the last of his drink. “He gets worked up so easily; I can’t help myself.”

Draco shakes his head, “He hates you.”

“For no reason, either. I never did anything to him, and yet he treats me with such contempt. Talk about baffling.” He smirks and Draco can't help but laugh.

They watch the teeming crowd of people for the next few minutes, making scathing and sarcastic remarks about the tittering women and drooling men, their fancy clothes, who’s trying to get into whom’s pants. The waiter makes a point to stop by them every time he makes his rounds and Harry greatly appreciates it. 

Hermione and Ron spot him far too quickly. They look like quite the pair. Hermione’s hair is pinned back from her face. She looks resplendent and tall in a maroon dress, a gold necklace he knows Ron bought for her around her slender throat. Ron’s as tall and lanky as ever in faded black robes, his face flushed from drinking and hovering at ‘Mione’s side.

Hermione waves her hand at him and tilts her head in the universal ‘come here’ gesture. He thinks about falling off cliffs and the Avada Kedavra curse and drinking himself into a stupor.

They’re with fucking Kingsley. Of course they are. Hermione seems to willingly seek his presence out on the daily. She fits right in with the ever present group of political junkies that flag Kingsley everywhere he goes. 

He shoves his glass into Draco’s hand, nodding at her until she looks away with a prim smile. Draco glares before realizing where he’s looking and immediately snickering. Harry flips him off before sauntering over as slow as possible, gladly stopping when he’s dragged into conversation with partygoers. Hermione seems to have lost her remaining patience when she interrupts some woman who had immersed him in a discussion about marriage of all things before dragging him to join the ever present swarm around the Minister. 

As soon as Kingsley sees him being led over by Hermione, he sends him a stern look - like he’s telling Harry to behave of all things. 

He beams, exclaiming loudly, “Harry!” Kingsley wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders as he’s dragged into the middle of the gaggle of Ministry employees and politicians. Harry gnashes his teeth but smiles and greets the Ministry dogs already leering at him. 

They fawn and preen over him excitedly, hungrily. When Harry remains silent, they renew their demands and debate about policies and finances and Hogwarts and job positions and Harry would have probably screamed or hexed one of them if he hadn’t been drinking all night. 

He notices vaguely that Kingsley’s responses are all neutral and diplomatic enough and that Hermione is eagerly interjecting with her own opinions. Ron is just as silent and clueless as Harry. Harry wonders if it’s from the delicious champagne they’ve been serving tonight or if he just doesn’t hold an interest. In Harry’s case, it’s both. 

Kingsley gets into a rather heated debate regarding the long past Death Eater trials with a man Harry doesn't care to recognize. Kingsley’s arm slips off Harry’s shoulders as he takes a step closer. Harry finds it the perfect opportunity to slip away. 

No one notices, it seems. He shifts through the crowd until he’s far enough that Kingsley and ‘Mione won’t be able to spot him again so soon. Harry understands that he had to make an appearance in front of Kingsley and the rest before the night was up - it was the whole point in him attending. But, God, it makes him wish for a sturdy brick to the temple.

Then, damn it all, a large hand touches his arm. He glances back with a frown but relaxes a bit when he sees that it’s just Ron. 

“Ron.”

He smiles lightly, “Thought my head was going to implode with all that political rubbish.”

Harry grins. “It is indeed rubbish.” A waiter passes by and his grin widens, “Care for a drink, Ron?”

Ron eyes him as the rather pretty waiter halts in front of him with the platter of sparkling drinks. Harry takes a glass down before Ron easily takes it from his grasp, sipping from it himself. 

Harry blinks before scowling. He grumbles, already reaching for another one, “I literally asked if you wanted one.” 

Ron clutches his wrist tightly, waving the waiter away with an overly polite smile. The waiter looks anxiously between Ron and Harry’s stormy expression before quickly walking away with a brisk nod. 

Harry glares, “What the fuck, Ron?”

Ron’s lips are pressed tight together, a furrow in his brows. “Don’t ‘what the fuck’ me, Harry. You've drunk enough tonight.”

Harry scoffs incredulously, “Please, my tolerance is unmatched. Trust me. I'm a long way off.”

Ron fixes him with his version of a stern look. “Hermione told me to stop you and I agreed. Because she's right - like always. You’re drinking too much tonight, Harry. At least wait ‘til you get home before starting up again.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “I think I know how much I've been drinking, far better than you and ‘Mione, seeing as I haven't seen you all day.”

Ron hesitates, “What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying we haven't been trying to see you? We’ve seen each other everyday, Harry.”

Harry laughs unkindly. “Yes, everyday at a fucking Ministry function or a bloody funeral.”

Ron’s mouth tightens. “You know you’re more than welcome to come to the Burrow anytime you want. We’ve all made that perfectly clear. You’re the one that hasn’t been around, Harry. I’m sorry, I guess, if it seems like we haven't been there for you. But things have been bad at home. After Fred….” Ron swallows before continuing in a much quieter tone. “Dad and Percy are gone all the time doing all this Ministry stuff and now Hermione, too. Charlie’s never around and Bill’s got his own drama with Fleur so I’m left with Mum, Ginny, and George-”

Harry interrupts him, feeling absolutely horrid. “Fuck, Ron. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you hadn’t been there for me. I know everything’s hard right now. It is for everyone. I’m…I’m sorry that I haven't been there for you, actually, for all of you. I've just been in a bad place myself. I’m sorry, Ron. I want to be there for you.”

Ron forces a smile but he’s gone a little pale, a little weary around the eyes. Harry feels like scum, like a bug on the underside of his shoe. Ron places a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You of all people have nothing to apologize for, Harry. You’re my best mate and I know you better than anyone. I understand. You’re doing your best to cope and so am I. You deserve to have your space to figure it out. I just - Me and ‘Mione both think that drinking isn't really the healthiest way to do it.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. “What would you have me do instead, Ron? Throw myself into politics and become a Mini Kingsley? Skip out on Hogwarts and become a fucking auror?” 

Ron’s hand quickly falls from his shoulder. His expression is pinched, his lips bloodless. “I don’t know what you should do, Harry, but it's kind of hard to talk about your drinking habit when you're already drunk to begin with or off gallivanting around with an equally wasted Malfoy.”

Harry frowns, feeling a tight swell of anger - his first in a while - before swallowing it down. “I can’t promise you any changes with my drinking. It’s the only thing keeping me going at the moment. But I’ll try to cut back if it'll make the both of you feel better.” It’s a lie. Harry knows it’s a lie and and Ron’s an idiot if he believes it. “And enough about Draco, I mean it. The drinking helps, and believe it or not, so does he.”

Ron looks a little constipated but he just nods stiffly. “Some terrible vices you've picked up, Harry. But I'm doing my best to understand. We all are. Just - if you ever do want to talk or need help - promise you'll come to us, or,” he rubs the back of his neck, “Hermione, at least. I know I'm not always good with these types of things.” 

Harry smiles wistfully. “You’re both the best friends I've ever had, Ron. No one’s ever been there for me like you two. Of course I'll come to you if I need to. And the same goes for me. If you need me, any of you, I'm there. Believe it or not but the drinking helps me stay functional, so don't let that stop you from reaching out to me.”

Ron sighs, looking away with a wince before nodding. Harry can tell Ron disapproves of almost everything going on within and around Harry at the moment. Harry can hardly blame him in all honesty. It must be a lot. To endure a war, so much change and heartbreak and loss and grief, and to look at one of your best friends and not know who it is you’re seeing.

Ron simply replies, “Yeah, mate. Okay.” He still doesn’t look at him. 

Harry nods anyways, as if the matter is resolved. What more could he possibly say? 

He turns away from his friend, looking over the conversing clamor of people before spotting a familiar face. 

Luna.

She’s already looking at him. She smiles, radiant and so stunning, and Harry all but melts. He thinks Luna and Teddy are the only people in the world, in his bleak life, that give him even a glimpse of the happiness and youth and love he used to feel so easily. He loves the two of them all the more for it. 

He walks over to her almost dazedly and she greets him with a familiar kiss on his cheek, slipping her arm easily through his. “Hi, Harry.”

He smiles warmly. “Hi, Luna. You look beautiful.”

And she does. All soft and whimsical, ethereal in a long seafoam dress and her bright hair flowing around her like the softest shawl.

She beams. “You look quite dapper as well. Dad, you remember Harry, of course.”

Harry blinks, looking up. And, oh. Yes, that is her father standing next to her. 

The older man smiles genially, “Why, yes, of course.” He sticks out a withered hand and Harry shakes it firmly. 

He listens to them discuss the future for The Quibbler before a journalist calls her father over and he excuses himself. 

Luna looks up at him. “How are you?”

He swallows. “I’m okay, but better now that I’m seeing you,” he says with a soft smile.

She rubs her delicate hand over his comfortingly. “I’ve missed you as well. I was thinking we could all meet. Have a big dinner and talk and laugh and play games together. Before we go back - to get in the spirit. You are coming, aren’t you? To Hogwarts?”

Harry nods. “Of course. And that sounds like a very nice idea, Luna.” He honestly doesn’t care to see the rest of his classmates but he would never pass up an opportunity to see Luna or to make her happy. 

She smiles serenely. “I thought so, too. I'll talk to Hermione about arranging it. I wanted to host it at mine. We have the space and all the flowers are in bloom. It’s quite lovely. And you could invite Draco and his friends - if you wanted.”

Luna was so unbelievably thoughtful. “I'll mention it to him, but there’s no telling what Draco will decide to do.” Harry smirks, “He’s rather moody.”

She laughs, airy and tinkling. She places a finger to his nose gently before removing it. “As are you.” 

A laugh startles out of him, “Do you think I’m moody, Luna?”

She smiles gently, “It’s not your fault, Harry. It’s the wrackspurts.”

He grins delightedly, tilting his head. “Are they all over me?”

She reaches up on her toes, placing her soft hands on his shoulders for balance. She places her lips next to his temple, her silk hair brushing his ear, and blows forcefully for a moment before dropping back to her heels, her hands falling back to her sides.

He blinks at her in question.

She simply smiles. “There’s not so many now.”

He grins widely, feeling this warmth, this effervescent glow. Multiple glasses of firewhiskey have come close but five minutes in Luna’s presence and he’s experiencing the honeyed sensation tenfold. 

“You’re brilliant. Thank you, Luna.”

Her father calls her name from where he’s still speaking to that same journalist. Luna squeezes Harry’s hand before turning away from him and Harry lets her go somewhat reluctantly. 

He moves on, letting people talk at him and gawk with owlish eyes. He greets some of his peers from Hogwarts when they approach him. He wonders if they’re eager to return. For things to be easy again. He wonders if they’re sick. If they dread returning.

He’s able to drink two more glasses before ‘Mione finds him. He smiles easily, “Hullo.”

If Luna and Teddy are the two people who instill some semblance of happiness and light in Harry’s grey world, Hermione and Draco are the ones who solidify it. They’re corporal strength and trust and Harry’s not afraid to lean ever so slightly against them, to unburden himself upon their capable shoulders. Most of all, Harry’s not afraid to be himself with them. Harry doesn’t fear abandonment. And that’s something he cherishes above all else. 

Her voice is quiet. He can tell she’s getting tired from the long night. “Harry. It’s getting rather late. Me and Ron were thinking about leaving.”

He smirks teasingly, “Ah, lucky. I can’t leave until Sir Kingsley allows it.”

‘Mione frowns, her brown eyes concerned. “If you need to leave Harry, or if you need space from all of this, I'll speak to him for you. Your well being should be more important than Kingsley’s social standing or his plans for your combined image.”

Harry shakes his head, “You don't have to say anything to him, ‘Mione. Doubt it would do any good. Besides, we’re going to Hogwarts.” He smirks, “Finally have a break from all this.” 

She smiles slightly, “I wanted to ask you, if you would want to go back.”

He looks down at his shoes, the lights overhead reflecting off the shine of them. “I don't really, but I am.”

She tilts her head, taking his hand and making him look at her. “Why don't you want to go back? Is it too soon?”

He bites his lower lip. “I don't know, it just seems kind of ludicrous after everything. But I understand why they're doing it and McGonagall and Kingsely expect me to go. Malfoy, too, of course. And after all the new regulations they’re putting into play for us...it doesn’t sound so bad.” 

She nods slowly, her thumb brushing over his hand. “I honestly think it would be good for you. For all of us, really. A chance at normalcy after everything, to remember who we were before.”

His lips twist, his eyes rolling upwards. “But what if we aren't those people anymore, Hermione?”

She squeezes his hand tightly, “Then we’ll figure that out. Together. Like we always do.”

He smiles sadly and intertwines their fingers as he pulls her closer. He feels her touch his hair, cradling his head gently, as he all but bends in half to rest his head on her delicate collarbone. She holds him close, embracing him. “We’re all going to be okay, Harry. I know it.” She whispers, “I have the utmost faith in all of us.”

Harry really fucking wishes he could say the same. Felt the same. 

Someone clears their throat, harsh and sudden. Hermione stiffens before pulling away, her hands leaving him and taking a step back. Harry raises himself, feeling kind of annoyed. His annoyance grows insurmountable at seeing who the source of the sound is. 

Severus Snape. 

You would think he would avoid Harry, especially after earlier. But here he is, like he just can’t help himself. Harry’s not as amused now. He’s just miffed and back to wanting Snape to fuck off and never come near him again. 

Snape looks rather haughty, his chin pointed out. “Miss Granger, I hear you have been spearheading SPEW.” He says it just disdainfully enough to make Harry’s jaw clench. 

She raises her head, tall and proud. “I have, Professor.” He feels a curl of pride. Hermione’s never taken his shit. 

Snape’s lip curls, “You have chosen a horrible time to do it. Too many other policies and commissions are going into effect or changing altogether for you to propose something to that effect.”

Her facial expression doesn’t change, but he can see one of her hands hidden behind her back go white-knuckled, “I’m sorry you feel that way, Professor, but change waits for no one, and I've already made much progress on that front.”

His lips press together in blatant disapproval. “If you think the little you've accomplished is progress then you’re as young and naive as you seem.”

If there is one thing Hermione has always sought it is approval from someone possessing more knowledge than her, acknowledgement from them at the very least. Snape has never given her either. Not when he was her Professor and she was the brightest witch in all of Hogwarts, and not now after she helped win them the bloody war and still fights to make change. 

Harry is glaring at him and doesn’t care. Harry doesnt think he’s ever met someone who is so confusing and utterly infuritating and stupid and ugly and so cruel. 

His voice is quiet but firm as he says, “None of us are young and naive, Snape, not anymore. If you’re so keen to ridicule, why don't you find someone who actually deserves the torment of your presence?”

Snape leers at him with his pale skin and blood red lips, “Someone like you then, Potter? You seem to deserve ridicule more than any of us. You’re drinking and wasting away. Harry Potter, lost in self loathing and debauchery...I guess you come by it naturally. Your godfather was much the same way,” He says with a cruel sneer.

Harry hears Hermione inhale sharply, but Harry is frozen. He can feel something beneath his skin, building and building. It’s hot and scorching, angry and malevolent. His magic is a beast roiling underneath the fragile barrier of his skin and it is more than desperate to lash out at Snape, to rip him into fucking shreds. Harry doesn't know if in his intoxication and delirious anger he’ll have the ability to stop it. 

He notices when the two of them can feel it, when they both stiffen, their breaths hitched. Hermione looks at him warily, “H-Harry, easy. He didn’t mean it. Did you, Professor? It was a mistake. That’s all.” Her words and tone are soothing, familiar. Harry doesn’t know if it’s enough. If he wants it to be enough. 

Snape clenches and unclenches his fists at his side, his eyes on Harry wide and calculating. Harry watches his hands bunch and loosen over and over, feeling the scorching heat claw at him from the inside, seeking a way out. Harry traces his eyes over Snape’s blue veins, prominent in his white hands. 

Without warning, Harry’s magic shoots out like a vice, wrapping around Snape and squeezing. It wants to burn, to tear, to hurt. To hook it’s claws into Snape and rip. To sear into him and make him feel the heat that is overwhelming Harry.

Snape actually gasps as Harry’s magic touches him and Harry revels in the sound without any guilt, his magic nipping and burning and choking.

“Harry,” Hermione snaps. She grabs his arm roughly, “Stop, Harry. Look at me, please. You are hurting him. You don’t really want to hurt anyone. Do you, Harry?” Her words are low and carefully enunciated, stated slow and with an obvious edge of fear. 

Harry has only broken like this once in front of her. It was during an argument between him and Ron after the war was over. It was over Ginny. Harry ended their relationship when Ron thought she needed Harry the most. Perhaps Ron was right. But Ron wasn’t listening and Harry was getting so frustrated that he couldn’t - wouldn’t - understand that Harry had no fucking interest, nothing left at all in him to care in the slightest. 

Ron pushed him. And Harry’s magic lashed out, pinning Ron to the wall, making him scream before Hermione talked him down and Harry was able to pry the burning flames off of his friend. He didn’t know how to absorb it back into him, not at that point. So he walked outside, barely containing himself, before fiery lacerations imploded, destroying thick maple trees and the Weasley’s tool shed. 

They both tried to talk to him about it after. He assured them he was getting help in controlling it - his lack of control when something angered him. They believed him as Hermione had seen no evidence of it since then...until now.

He blinked slowly, meeting her eyes. Wide and brown and steely. “Sorry,” he uttered.

She shook her head, “It’s okay. Let it go, Harry. Please.”

Harry exhaled, his breath wavering, before looking back at Snape. The man was tense and in obvious pain. Harry savored the sight for just a moment before reigning his magic in. He and Draco had disappeared into the Forbidden Forest a week after that argument with Ron. Harry had blown up quite literally. He had learned how to absorb it, how to control it. But sometimes it was hard. As he was learning, most things could be. Most things were. 

Snape sucked in a sharp breath as it unlatched it’s searing claws, leaving blackened nicks that he could sense Snape’s magic quickly patching up. His posture slumped, his black eyes on Harry were cold and calculating. Curious. His face was blank. 

Harry stepped toward him, brushing Hermione’s arm off gently. He looked down at Snape, barely an inch of space between them, and he knew his eyes were colder when he said, “Say whatever the fuck you want about me, Snape, I’m not going to stop you. But if Sirius’ name leaves your lips again, I’ll find you when Hermione’s not around to hold my leash. Am I understood?” He whispers the words softly, his eyes boring into him. 

Snape was the first to look away, “Understood, Potter.”

Harry steps back with a curl of his lip, dragging his eyes over him.

He stiffens at a hand wrapping around his elbow. He jerks his head to the side before pausing. It was Draco.

Draco narrows his eyes at Harry, glancing between Snape and him. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” he grits out. 

Malfoy sighs, clearly not believing him but not caring enough to persist. “Ok. I just came to tell you that I have to leave. Andromeda sent an owl saying my mother had another fit. I’ve already told Kingsely.”

Harry meets his eyes, wincing. “Shit, Draco. Do you want me to come with you?”

His eyes soften. Shaking his head, he replies, “No, it’s fine. Andromeda said she got her to settle down already but I'm going to head over and most likely sleep there with her for the night.”

Harry nods. Draco’s mother has been enduring regular fits of anxiety and hysteria, troubling nightmares that keep her from sleep. Draco’s forced her to see a Mind Healer. She has weekly appointments and daily potions and mental exercises but her progress is still ongoing. It puts a lot of stress on Draco, Harry knows. Draco loves his mother fiercely. Harry doesn't want him to feel alone with his burdens; just as Draco has never let Harry feel alone with his own pressures. “Okay, if you need me, send an owl or use the floo, yeah?” 

He nods. “Thanks.” He slings an arm over his shoulder, pulling him closer and Harry smirks as he hugs him back tightly. “I’ll probably stop by tomorrow, sometime after lunch.” 

“I'll be there.”

Draco steps back with a thin smile. He looks him over before grinning. “Hogwarts, Harry.”

Harry can’t help but grin back. “Bloody Hogwarts.”

Malfoy laughs quietly before clasping him on the shoulder. He looks to Snape, “Goodbye, sir. It was nice seeing you. Perhaps, we could catch up again before the start of term?”

Snape nods, still tense and watching. “Of course, send your mother my best.”

He nods, “Thank you, sir. I’ll send an owl sometime this week.” He glances to ‘Mione who’s standing just behind them with a blank expression. Draco nods curtly to her before meeting Harry’s eyes again. Harry winks and Draco smiles before walking off toward the apparition point. Snape calls after him in a hoarse voice, “Use a sobriety potion!” 

Draco replies with a smile evident in his tone, “Already done, sir.” Harry watches him go fondly before turning around. Snape’s eyes are still on Harry. Harry stares back before Hermione touches his hand. He turns his back on Snape. Maybe that’ll give him the hint to leave, if his fucking magic almost strangling him wasn’t enough. 

Harry forces a bland smile as Ron appears beside them. Hermione doesn’t look away from him. “Are you alright, Harry?” Her eyes are probing, her tone insistent. 

He doesn’t want to brush her off but he does. It’s not the time to discuss this, if ever. “Fine, are you two leaving?”

Ron looks between them curiously before wrapping an arm around her waist comfortably. “Yeah, we were. You leaving yet?”

He smiles, thin and false, “Not just yet. But soon. Don't let me keep you two, please.”

Hermione steps forward and hugs him tightly. “Can I come see you tomorrow?”

He sighs, hugging her back. “I don't know. Draco will be by after lunch.”

She hums, separating from him. “I'll write to you tomorrow and see when would be best.”

He thinks about when he started having to receive letters in advance to see Hermione. He feels horrid again; his life really has gone downhill, hasn’t it?

He simply nods in response, looking to Ron who clasps him on the back with a slight smile, “See you, mate.”

He nods again, watching them head outside, something sick festering inside him. Arthur and Bill are close behind them. They both stop and shake his hand with small smiles. Mr. Weasley tells him to come visit the Burrow. Harry nods, something about his facial expression strained enough that Mr. Weasley just smiles sadly and leaves, Bill following behind with a frown. 

Harry feels blank and empty again. He swipes a drink from a passing waitress, already draining half the contents before it’s fully in his hand. 

A soft voice interrupts his turmoil. “Harry, Professor Snape.”

He blinks, looking to the side to see Luna. He blinks again at the realization that Snape is still bloody there. What the fuck is his problem?

He turns to face Luna, his back again to Snape. She smiles prettily, “I just came to say goodbye, Harry. Me and Dad are leaving.”

He sighs internally. Everyone leaving and Harry stuck, sounds about right. He forces himself to appear pleasant and not on the verge of collapse for Luna’s sake, “Right. It was nice seeing you, Luna, the both of you.”

She grins, glorious, her hair tucked behind one ear. She leans forward to press another kiss to his cheek. Her father approaches behind her, shaking his hand as Luna says something to Snape. In what world does Severus Snape get a goodbye from Luna Lovegood?

Luna and her father switch and she says to Harry, “I’ll let you know when I decide to have the party.”

He nods, his hair sliding into his eyes. “Sounds great, Luna.”

She smiles happily, “Goodnight, Harry.”

He smiles in return as he watches her take her father’s arm. He lead hers outside into the starry night and Harry feels so fucking tired. But also relieved. No one else he really has the energy to care about is here. He drains the rest of his glass, reaching up to loosen his collar. 

That awful throat clearing sound reaches his ears again. He turns around with a frown and meets Snape’s eyes. Harry scowls, “What the fuck are you still doing here, Snape?” 

“Watch your language, Potter.” 

Harry grins, sharp and cutting, just like Snape’s words, before stalking forward. Snape stands his ground. “What’s this? Just a minute ago you almost seemed scared of me.”

Snape frowned, “You don't frighten me. What does frighten me is how much magic you have and how unstable you are at the moment.”

Harry laughs coldly, “You think I'm unstable, Snape?”

“Yes.” His eyes are like fucking pitch, aren’t they? “And I know you are well aware of it. What surprises me is that you're doing nothing about it.” 

“I know my own limits, Snape.”

Harry has no clue what he’s capable of. No fucking clue. 

Snape scowls, as if he knows just how good Harry’s gotten at lying. Lying to himself, to the people in his life, good or bad. As if he can see through any sham he puts up, right to the barren bits that lay beneath. “You attacked me for hurting your poor sensitive feelings, Potter.”

Heat warms the ice along Harry’s veins. “I wanted to kill you for it.” He stepped closer. Harry had never seen Snape look at him like this before. “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. And I wouldn’t antagonize me further when I’m like this. I'll end up doing something we both regret.”

They stared at each other a moment, cold green and flinty black eyes, neither daring to break away first. 

A booming voice proclaimed, “Harry!”

Kingsley.

Harry stiffened before swinging to face him, breaking from Snape’s eyes. “Am I free yet, Minister?”

Kingsley scans him, “Yes, I think it’s quite time you headed home, Potter. You received your Hogwarts letter, yes?”

Harry nodded stiffly. “Yes. I'll be going.”

“Good.” He clapped him on the shoulder, studying him, before shaking his head, his disappointment obvious. Kingsley glanced over at Snape, “Severus, why don’t you make sure our savior gets home safely for the night? Wouldn’t want him to end up splinched.”

Harry scowls, “I’m perfectly capable of apparition, Minister,” he grits out.

Kingsley shakes his head and fixes Harry with that look and that tone and says, “Humor me, Harry, for my peace of mind.”

Harry clenches his fists and thinks one day he’s going to have the courage to ignore Kingsley, and what a glorious day that will be. It’s really Dumbledore all over again, isn’t it?

Harry stiffens when he feels a hand on his elbow grip tight. “I’ll make sure he gets home.”

Harry gnashes his teeth, not daring to look at him. “First of all, you can get your bloody hands off.”

Snape grips tighter, snapping, “Shut up, Potter,” and drags him toward the heavy doors that lead outside. He pushes him out into the cool air. 

Harry gulps it down greedily. 

Snape continues to push him along the gravel path, all the way to the black gates, and Harry rips his arm away. 

“Stop bloody touching me.”

Snape’s voice is bland, mocking. “Can you even walk properly, Potter?”

Harry’s a little dazed and a little woozy but it’s not anything he can’t handle. He’s done much more than walk down a straight fucking path in far more intoxicated states.

“Why the fuck do you even care? Just piss off already.”

His lip curls disdainfully. Harry wants to bite him. “Whether I like it or not, when the Minister for Magic tells me to do something, I’m going to do it.”

Harry scoffs. “Oh please, you were a fucking Death Eater, Snape. Don't act all high and mighty now.”

He can see one of Snape’s hands clench and Harry smirks at finally getting a reaction. “Yes. And then I was a fucking Order member - who saved your life on occasion. How about then, Potter? Or do you still not acknowledge the people around you?”

Harry swings on him, that heat burning along his bones, “Are you fucking joking? I’ve said speeches. I’ve memorialized the dead, I haven’t let anyone forget about the people who died. I helped clear your bloody name and saved YOUR fucking life - not that I got any thanks for that. So you can go fuck yourself, Snape.”

Snape’s jaw clenched, tensing. He reached out and gripped his arm again, tight and twisting. Harry was met with the unexpected sensation of apparition. He stumbled, nearly tripping over his feet, as they both landed in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Harry groaned, catching himself on the table in the middle of the room. 

Snape reached out to steady him and Harry reared back from him with a snarl, “Get out of my fucking house.”

Snape sneered, dark eyes roving over him in contempt, “Will you be able to even make it up the stairs?”

His nails bite into his palms. “I’d rather sleep on the fucking floor than spend another second in your presence.” Harry looked him over with narrowed eyes, pushing his hair out of his eyes impatiently, “What is with you, Snape? You would think you would be avoiding me for all you’re worth - but here you are. Unfortunately, I’m not in the mood, so tell me what your fucking problem is, because I can’t fathom why you won’t just let me be.” He steps closer. “What is it, Snape? Is this still about your guilt over my mother, or is it something else?”

Harry stopped not a hair's breadth away from him. “What is it, Snape? You gotta give me something.”

Snape’s avoiding his eyes and that pisses him off even more. Harry reaches out and grips his chin, bringing it up to peer into Snape’s face. “Look at me,” he orders.

Snape’s eyes are steely but there’s something about his expression and the clench of his jaw. He’s wary of something - him? His magic? His temper? The truth? 

“Is it about my mother?”

Snape scowls, “Why are you so determined to believe that I was in love with your mother?”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “Because you were. I saw your memories.” 

He jerks out of Harry’s hold but doesn’t look away from him. “Or maybe you’re just dense, Potter.”

Harry frowned, “Then, what is it? You loved her, right?”

“Of course I did, much in the way you love Miss Granger, if I'm not mistaken. I very much doubt there is anything romantic about that, is there?”

Harry gapes for a moment before closing his mouth and swallowing. “So she was just…”

Snape’s lips purse. “She wasn't just anything. She was my best friend, and I let her down more than anyone.”

Harry stared at him, seeing the pain he was trying to hide in his expression, but still so obviously reflected in his eyes. 

Harry feels a camaraderie for some reason. Like he’s finally seeing something he can recognize. “I’m sorry you lost her. I’m sorry we both did.” 

Snape blinked at him, his tongue wetting his lips. “It’s my fault.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t blame you, Snape. I never really did. I know it was - it was never your intention for my mother to get hurt, and I think you’ve paid for it enough, don’t you?”

Snape shook his head then. “I will pay for what happened to Lily for the rest of my life.”

Harry stared at him, shrugging. “That’s up to you. I guess it’s the same way I feel. Like the rest of my days are going to be bleak enough to serve as my punishment for the war.”

Snape’s lip curls. “You won the bloody war. What are you talking about?”

Harry swallows. “People died for me, because of me. I killed someone, and I died myself and I...I don’t feel like me, Snape. I feel void, empty, hollow. I feel like I only have so much capacity to care about mundane things anymore. I do loathe myself and I do drink myself away. But the worst thing is...it feels way too fucking good to stop, Snape. It feels better than anything I’ve ever felt. To be void of everything and have fire coursing through my veins. How fucked up is that? I tell my friends that I know I’m not alright. That I’m trying to get better. I want them to think I know it’s not right to feel this way, but what I don’t tell them is that I like it - not feeling anything after feeling everything. It’s fucking magical, Snape. All I want to do is drink and fuck and fight and I love every moment of it.”

He grins, wild and careless. “If I could just leave and do that for the rest of my life, I would. But I don’t think the people who care about me would let me and I wouldn’t want to burden them anymore by disappearing. It’s why I decided not to kill myself, you know. But I dont think I’ll ever be the Harry they want me to be. And I don’t know how to pretend to be him, either.”

Snape’s breathing has accelerated exponentially. His eyes are boring into him.

Harry laughs emptily. “You should go home, Snape.”

He turns away from him, planning to stumble up the stairs and into his bed, but Snape grabs his hand, turning him back around harshly. Snape is much closer, their chests pressed against each other. Snape is peering up at him through his lashes and the way he’s looking at him...Harry’s familiar with the way people look when they want him. When they want to sleep with him. And the way Snape is looking at him seems a lot like that.

Harry blinks incredulously. “Snape, have you been drinking?”

He swallows. “Not nearly as much as you.”

“I think I must be drunker than I thought.”

Snape sighs, “You are very drunk.” 

Harry blinks again. “Why are you looking at me like that?” It’s a mixture of awe and want and resentment and fear. 

Snape swallows. “You said the only things you enjoy are fighting and drinking. We’ve been fighting all night, Potter. We’re both drunk out of our wits, and…”

Harry frowns, not seeing his point. “And what?”

“And we’re both here, Potter.” He digs his fingers into the arm he’s still clutching, his tongue darting out over his lips quickly.

Harry feels even more confused. Then he remembers that he also told Snape he enjoys fucking - which is very true - but Snape can’t possibly be offering that.

Harry laughs ridiculously at the thought.

Snape flinches for some odd reason, rearing back and releasing his grip on Harry’s arm.

Harry laughs again, “What is it you’re asking me, Snape, because I think I’ve severely misunderstood you.”

He clenches his jaw, “You haven’t. If you dont want to, just fucking say it.”

Harry flicks his eyes over him curiously. Snape almost looks vulnerable - a little miffed.

Harry gawks for a moment, truly incredulous. “Are you actually Snape? Or are you just some polyjuice-ed groupie because there is no way you are propositioning me right now.”

Snape looks exasperated. “Really? I think if someone was that desperate to sleep with you, they wouldn’t disguise themselves as me of all people.” 

He had a point there.

Snape moves closer, “Why not, Potter? It’s not about you, it’s just about the act itself. Why is it so hard to believe I would be interested in that?”

He laughs again, “I don't know, because you've bloody hated me and made my life miserable for years. And yeah, I get you’ve been looking out for me all the same but you did that for my mother, for fucking Dumbledore, not me.”

Snape steps away to the counter, finding a half bottle of whiskey, which is not hard. There's many bottles of liquor laying around. He takes a swig from the bottle itself. Harry watches his throat as he swallows. Harry can’t say he’s ever even remotely thought about Snape sexually. He hated Snape, he was his fucking Professor. He still doesn't bloody like him and he’s still gonna be his teacher. He’s old and not even particularly attractive. But Harry’s drunk and Harry does like to fuck around and they are here together, alone, and just the idea of Snape wanting him is so intriguing. Snape is so angry, so unkind, all the time - he wonders what that would be like in bed. To sleep with someone who doesn’t admire him. Who doesn’t even like him.

He can tell Snape notices Harry watching the movement of his throat as he swallows. 

Harry steps closer to him. He holds out his hand for the bottle and Snapes’ eyes heat just a little as he hands it over, his fingers lingering over Harry’s. Harry can’t fucking believe this. 

He takes a swig, knowing that Snape’s mouth was there, Snape knowing that his mouth was there. He relishes the burn before handing it back to Snape and he drinks from it again, his lips lingering over the mouth of the bottle. Damn him, but Harry is having trouble looking away.

“Tell me why you want to sleep with me.” He all but demands it. His voice has dropped an octave and he mentally cringes. Fuck. He’s genuinely interested, isn’t he?

Harry doesn't trust Snape and he doesn't understand where this is all coming from. Who would believe Severus fucking Snape would willingly throw himself at Harry bloody Potter? No one. 

Snape sighs, long and gusty. “Potter, I don’t hate you. I’ve never particularly liked you but in fifth year, after the Occlumency lessons, I got over that.”

He blinks. Is he truly so drunk he’s started hallucinating? “I thought you hated me even more after that.”

Snape rolled his eyes upwards, as if Harry was the stupidest boy he’s ever seen. Which, well, Snape has said that to him on multiple occasions. “I was angry at you for invading my privacy but I also invaded yours, Potter, and I learned quite a lot about you in that time.”

Harry raised a brow in surprise and question.

Snape continued. “You haven’t led the life I believed you had. You were never handed anything. I earned a certain respect for you after everything happened before and during the war. And,” his eyes trailed down him, lingering and heavy, “this growth spurt has certainly done wonders for you.” He looks into his eyes, “I understand you're not well, Potter. You have a right to be, everyone does. I haven't been okay for a long, long time. And I understand to some degree what you're feeling.” He steps closer. “If you and Draco Malfoy can get along so well...I do not see why we can't either.”

He’s still reeling and half sure this is some bizarre dream. Perhaps someone drugged him at Kingsley’s party, because in what world does Severus Snape not only proposition Harry Potter, but also give him some sort of pseudo apology. Even absorbing all that Snape just told him, he can’t help but smirk and say, “Me and Draco certainly don’t fuck.”

Snape stares at him for a moment, his eyes like dark disks in his pale face, his hair a shadow around him. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”

Harry laughs again, surprised and honestly amused. He drags a hand through his hair. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

Snape swallows another gulp of whiskey. “If you want me to leave, just say so, Potter.”

Harry stares at Snape, taking in his disheveled hair and flushed face, his wet, red lips and knows that it’s almost too weird for him. This is Severus Snape, who knew his parents, who hated his dad and Sirius. Who scorns their name on a daily basis. Who loved his mother like Harry loves Hermione. Who was a Death Eater and his professor and who Harry, himself, hated.

But Harry is drunk and likes to fuck around and Snape is all but throwing himself at Harry.

What can Harry really do in the face of that? So he walks up to Snape, who shakily sets the bottle down. Snape’s cleared his face of anything, a blank slate, his eyes the only thing giving him away, as Harry’s hand reaches out to trail along his face. He traces his lips, wet from the whiskey and Snape’s tongue. Snape - Severus fucking Snape - opens those red lips and sucks Harry’s long fingers into his mouth.

And with that Harry Potter is pretty much done for.

He fists his hand in Snape’s surprisingly soft hair and yanks his mouth to Harry’s, swallowing his tongue. Snape hums, his hands scrabbling at his shoulders to pull Harry down and bring him closer. Harry presses his body tightly against Snape’s, relishing in the way his body trembles, his fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders harder, twisting into the fabric of his robes. 

Harry brings his hands to Snape’s waist, gripping his hips harshly, somewhat surprised by how narrow he is. How thin he feels. Harry pushes him back gradually until Snape is pressed against the counter behind them. Harry kisses him harder, licking into his mouth. His hips meet Snape’s and he has to bite back a moan because Snape is hard. Really, really hard. They’ve barely even started. Snape must have been sporting a boner while they were still just talking. 

Harry’s more comfortable with that being the reason for this madness. Snape was probably just so horny he would have settled for anyone to get some relief. It has nothing to do with him.

Harry moves his lips to Snape’s neck, kissing and biting down the pale skin. Snape is making such attractive noises. He starts scrabbling at Harry’s robes. “Take them off,” he sighs.

Harry hums lowly along his skin before leaning back, staring down at Snape’s flushed face, his lips wet and parted, his eyes heavy-lidded, and Harry can’t help but smirk. He leans down to grip Snape’s thighs and lift him onto the counter. Snape gasps at the action and Harry smirks wider. He pushes himself in between Snape’s legs, pushing up his robes and blinking at seeing pale calves underneath the heavy black fabric. 

He looks at Snape with a furl of mischief and delight, “Don’t tell me Severus fucking Snape wears nothing underneath his infamous robes.”

If he didn’t know any better he would think Snape was blushing. Harry grins, letting a hand trail up under the dark fabric, over the smooth skin, the knobby knee, the softness of his thigh.  
It snags on tight fabric around his hip. 

Harry smirks, “Ah, there it is.” He moves his hand over the bulge in his underwear and Snape’s eyes flutter closed, his hips twitching up, his head falling back. His hands are gripping the counter’s marble edges tightly. 

Harry laughs softly, moving his hand up onto his stomach, trailing his hand up, tracing over his peaked nipples. Snape sucks in a tight breath, his chest heaving. Harry feels a curl of amusement mixed with arousal.

Harry brings both hands to Snape’s hips again, dipping his fingertip under the band of the fabric before pulling it down. Snape’s eyes fly open. Harry’s lips twitch at his expression. Harry never in his life thought he would see Snape aroused. And he doesn’t just look aroused. He looks fucking gone - wrecked - and Harry hasn’t done much more than kiss him, some subtle touching.

Harry pulls his underwear over his knees, down his ankles, and lets them flutter onto the floor. His hands move back to Snape’s thighs, jerking him closer, and Snape gasps again. Harry smiles lazily as one hand moves up to press against his bare cock. He cries out at Harry’s hand wrapping around him. Harry strokes him slowly, marveling at how hard he is. Snape’s breath stutters out, before he presses a hand to Harry’s chest. “Stop. I’ll come.” His voice is hoarse, fucked out already.

Harry tilts his face, moving his lips to press against Snape’s neck, making him moan. He murmurs against the skin there, “Isn’t that what we both want though?”

Snape’s hands move to wrap around his neck, his fingers tugging on the curls in his hair. “I want you to fuck me before that happens.”

Harry freezes for a moment, before leaning back to take him in. “Say that one more time for me.”

Snape lets some of his irritation bleed into his face and Harry likes that. “Don’t look so surprised.”

Harry grins, small and cocky. “Well, who would’ve thought that Severus Snape liked it up the ass? I didn’t even know you leaned towards wizards.”

Snape’s finger curled tighter into the back of his neck, creeping down to his shoulders. “Would you have really let me fuck you?”

Harry laughs, “Fuck no. I don’t let anybody fuck me. I just thought we would jerk each other off and go about our night.”

Snape stiffened then, something distinctly unhappy flitting across his face before he schools his expression. “Fine, if that's what you want.” His lips are pressed tightly together and Harry can’t help but laugh again. Snape tries to pull away from him and Harry digs his fingers into his milky thighs, jerking him closer. 

He takes each of Snape’s long legs and wraps them around his waist. Harry leans closer and kisses him filthily. Snape eventually begins to kiss back before Harry breaks the kiss. 

He whispers into his mouth, “I’ll happily fuck you, Snape. All you had to do was ask.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm back with a new chapter. I'm sorry about the wait, life's crazy. Thank you guys so much for being so supportive and leaving comments and kudos. I really appreciate it! 
> 
> This chapter takes place right where chapter 1 leaves off. I also apologize again for the mistakes. I don't have a beta for this fic so I ask everyone to be patient w/ me.
> 
> Thanks again and Happy Halloween!!

  
  
  


Harry smiles at the feeling of Snape’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His fingers are splayed over the long limbs. Snape’s skin is so pale and his bones are so sharp but his skin feels hot enough to burn. Harry slides his hands up to caress Snape’s thighs that tremble ever so slightly around him.

Snape’s cock is hard and leaking where it’s pressed against Harry’s dark robes. Harry notices when he starts to subtly rub against the heavy fabric. Harry moves his hands up to frame Snape’s hips, nudging him to lean back. Snape complies, his thighs spreading wider. 

Harry thumbs over the head of Snape’s cock. Snape’s chest heaves and his dark eyes are blown wide at the touch. 

Harry pushes the cloth of Snape’s robes up to his chest, baring more of his pale and flushed skin. It’s almost pretty - the contrast of pink and white.

“How many times have you done this, Potter?” Snape’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, his hips jerking almost involuntarily. 

Harry smirks. “Don’t worry about it, Professor.”

He moves his hands down to cup Snape’s ass, picking him up and kneading the warm, soft skin there. He slips a thumb in between the hot flesh. Snape jolts in his arms, winding his legs even tighter around him. Snape swears and his voice is raspy and choked. His hands shoot out to fist into Harry’s hair. 

Harry kisses him again. 

His thumb rubs circular motions along the puckered skin, pressing against him but not entering just yet. Snape makes a soft sound against his lips. Harry didn’t think Snape was capable of anything inherently soft leaving his mouth and yet he heard it - felt the air against his lips. 

“Harry!”

Both of them tense at the sound, frozen and still entwined. The voice was masculine and loud and undoubtedly Ron Wealey’s. 

The shout came from the fireplace in the den, which was next to the kitchen and not far from them at all. If Ron stepped through the floo, he would only have to take a few steps to find them in a very compromising position. 

They’re staring at each other, chests heaving, fingers digging into the other’s flesh. As if they don’t know how to untangle - how to stop - now that they’ve started. 

“Harry! It’s Ron. Are you there?”

Snape blinks, coming to his senses first. He pushes Harry off with a glare. He hisses between clenched teeth, “Go, you imbecile!”

Harry swallows, relinquishing hold of him and stepping away. He runs a hand through his dishevelled hair and straightens his robes as best he can before walking towards the den. He casts a look back and Snape is still sitting on the counter with so much of his body exposed and so obviously aroused and wanting. 

Harry heaves a breath before walking through the doorway. Ron’s ginger head is sticking out of the floo.

He walks close enough to where Ron won't need to look in the kitchen’s direction but not close enough for him to see Harry so obviously aroused. “Here I am.”

Ron smiles with obvious relief. “Harry! Hermione and I wanted to make sure you were alright. She wouldn’t quit worrying, saying we should have taken you with us when we left Kingsley’s.”

Harry pastes on a familiar smile. “Nonsense. I’m fine. Just about to head to bed.”

Ron nods, his brown eyes scanning him. “Good. You could use some sleep, mate. Do you need anything before I go?”

He shakes his head. “No, believe it or not, I’m actually an adult.”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Of course you are. I’ll leave you to it, then. Night, Harry.”

Harry knows that Severus Snape is half naked and in his kitchen. He knows that now is not the time to drag on the conversation... but he cannot deny that he’s curious.

Ron hasn’t been to Grimmauld in so long and their conversation from earlier - about them being there for each other - is still percolating in his mind. “Wait. Ron?”

He pauses, his brows lifting. “Yeah?”

Harry tilts his head. “What would you have done if I wasn’t home? I spend as many nights at Draco’s as I do here. Or elsewhere.”

Ron smiles ruefully. “I would have tracked you down one way or another. Even if I had to burst into Malfoy Manor or intrude on whatever poor soul decided to let you warm their bed for the night.”

Harry laughs outright before grinning. He feels mirth and it’s genuine and nice. It makes him think of quidditch practice and the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall. “Thanks, mate.”

Ron simply grins back before murmuring, “G’night, Harry. Get some rest.”

Harry nods in assent. “Night, Ron. Tell Mione the same for me.”

“Will do.” He smiles and disappears from the glowing flames in a bright sputter. 

Harry watches the flames for a moment, writhing and bright and sparking. It makes him think of fiendfyre. He runs his fingers agitatedly through his hair before turning on his heel and walking back into the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes roving over the dim space. 

Snape is gone. Harry doesn’t know why it surprises him. 

The counter is bare and all that’s left to show that it wasn’t a fever dream or a drunken hallucination is the bottle of whiskey that they shared. 

Harry hums aloud. Perhaps the possibility of Ron finding Severus Snape all hot and bothered in Harry’s kitchen - where they had all eaten at some point - scared the man shitless. In Harry’s opinion, the scenario sounds rather funny.

He grabs the bottle and swallows the remaining dregs of the amber liquid. He relishes the resulting warmth in his chest as he stumbles up the stairs, tripping and almost falling down near the top of the staircase.

Fuck Snape and his ‘Can you even make it up the stairs, Potter’. Fuck whoever built this house and decided to make the staircase so bloody tall, as well. 

Harry manages to twist the knob of his bedroom door open. He kicks off his shoes and pulls down his pants, his boxers sliding down with them. He hits his knee on the bed frame while trying to get his robes off and curses loudly. Once he’s finally out of his stuffy clothing, he all but collapses into his bed. With his nose buried in the sheets, he praises Kreacher for washing his bedding while he was out. 

He reaches down and fists himself. Harry’s not in the mood for anything except getting his hard-on out of the way so he can sleep. He comes into his hand with a groan, not caring about the mess and closing his eyes. He’s exhausted and wishes he could find some Dreamless Sleep potion to knock his ass out for the next few hours. He’ll have to ask Draco or Hermione to make him another batch because he’s fresh out. 

Harry’s fresh out of a lot of things lately. 

He sighs into his pillow, rubbing his face against the soft sheets. Fuck, he’s tired. He remembers going to sleep in Gryffindor tower - in his poster bed with red curtains and the noise of sleeping boys all around him. He knows it won’t be the same when they return at the end of the summer but it will be similar. He tries to take comfort in the fact that he will not be sleeping alone.

Harry Potter loved Hogwarts. Harry Potter _loves_ Hogwarts. 

And it’s this mantra that Harry falls asleep to: Harry Potter loves Hogwarts. Over and over and over. Maybe if he thinks it enough, it will deem true once again. 

~~~~~~  
  


The next evening, Harry is in the kitchen wearing nothing but muggle athletic shorts and squabbling with Kreacher over who gets to cook dinner when Draco arrives. He exits the floo dressed to the nines in muggle clothing. 

Harry raises his brows. “Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence, Kreacher.”

Kreacher is almost grinning at the sight of him and Harry rolls his eyes at the house elf’s blatant favoritism. 

Draco sits down at the bar. “Sorry, I know I said I would be by earlier, but Mother was in an excellent mood today.” He grins, looking almost exultant. Sometimes, Harry doesn’t think anyone could love their mother as much as Draco loves his own. “She went _outside_ , Harry. We actually ate together in the gardens and she was commenting about the food and asking about the state of the bloody Ministry.” His smile wilted a little. “She became very tired after, though.” He forces his smile back. “But I think it’s progress.” 

Harry smiles softly and squeezes his shoulder. “That’s great news, Draco. It’s definitely an improvement.”

He nods, his smile growing a little more genuine. He glances down at Kreacher, “So, what are we having for dinner?”

Kreacher looks properly delighted. 

Draco suggests they go to a new muggle club that’s opened in London. Harry suspected as much due to Draco’s muggle clothing. He’s wearing a cornflower blue silk shirt that bares his collarbones and tight black trousers. Harry agrees to come easily enough and allows Draco to pick his outfit. It always makes him unreasonably happy and Harry could care less on what he wears. 

Draco mentions that he invited Blaise and Pansy to tag along and Harry tries not to groan. 

Harry can’t control the dreadful look on his face at the news though and Draco smothers a laugh. “Oh, come on. They’re not that bad.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Blaise isn’t any fun now that he’s dating; and don’t even get me started on Pansy. She makes me think very violent thoughts, Draco.” 

Draco smirks. “Kinky.”

Harry laughs loudly. “Perhaps we _could_ engage in a round of hate sex.”

Draco grins. “I hear it’s the best kind.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Honestly, I doubt I could even get it up enough to try.” 

Draco tilts his head, a familiar smirk upon his lips. “If only you and I had taken up the opportunity when we had the chance.” 

Harry snickers, leaning forward. “I wouldn’t have known what to do with you.” 

Draco laughs delightedly at that before dragging him upstairs to dress him. He comes back downstairs in jeans with holes at the knees and a tight black T-shirt. Draco even styled his hair in neat waves around his shoulders. 

Harry pauses at the foot of the stairs with a scowl. Draco brushes past him with a quiet, “Be nice.” Pansy Parkinson is standing in front of the floo in a tight black minidress and spike heels. She’s cut her hair since the last time he saw her. It barely reaches her collarbones now.

Draco hugs her and she immediately starts yammering. She never shuts up. Harry walks into the kitchen and pours himself a drink. Kreacher’s food smells good and his stomach grumbles in agreement. 

Pansy and Draco enter behind him and Kreacher is overjoyed at the sight of her. It takes a special type of being to smile at the sight of Pansy Parkinson.

Harry and Pansy spend the dinner sniping at each other while Draco stifles his giggles and they all pregame with Ogden’s firewhiskey shots. 

They meet Blaise and his new boyfriend - who is almost four years older than them - at the muggle club. Harry disappears into the throng as soon as he greets the pair halfheartedly and Draco becomes distracted. He buys a strong drink at the bar and then lets himself be swallowed by the atmosphere and writhing mob of people. 

Harry finds that he loves dancing. He thinks back to when he was so terrible at it and found the Yule Ball to be one of the more daunting tasks of his Hogwarts career. He spent his childhood being so very insecure and unsure of himself. He cared about what people thought of him too much. It’s freeing to not have to worry about anything else but fun and intoxication and the fluidity of his body. No one here knows about magic or dark lords or boys who survive killing curses. He’s just another wasted random.

He loves feeling people press against him, whether it’s just brushes of skin as they pass by, fleeting touches of those that are dancing too close, or those that plaster their fevered skin against his. He can smell them and feel the heat of their body - feel their breath against his skin. He likes hands in his hair and around his waist and touching his arms. He likes wide eyes and parted lips.

If he were at a wizarding club, it would be a different story. He acted the same at wizarding clubs in the beginning - unafraid and wild. But Harry quickly learned that the wizarding world had forgotten he was a fucking human being after the war. They acted one of two ways towards him and both scenarios equally pissed Harry off. 

People were either too awed to treat him normally, as if he was a saint that shouldn’t see them in their debauchery, or they literally had no filter or sense of personal space. They forgot what consent was. 

He would usually get so drunk at wizarding clubs that he would engage in fights, swear at people - _hurt_ people. Whoever had accompanied him there would then have to drag him away and the night would be ruined and Harry’s blood would sing anyways. From then on, his friends had encouraged Harry to still have his guard up in Wizarding Britain. A night out was supposed to be a release, a _respite_ , but if he was surrounded by his own kind it always turned out the opposite. Harry and Draco have both learned that lesson the hard way. With Draco being deemed the literal spawn of Satan and Harry the Holy Savior, he thinks it’s very obvious why they frequent Muggle London more than Wizarding Britain. 

So, Harry dances and sings along to the music albeit badly. He makes out with strangers when they approach him. He buys more drinks for himself and those that he fancies.

He meets a girl who has black, sleek hair that falls to her waist and resembles water at night. Her skin is caramel and she has piercings. Several hoops and studs curled around one ear, two rings through her nose, one ring around her bottom lip. He’s fascinated by them. He finds he likes darting his tongue over the cool metal and how the ring stretches her lip when she smiles. The metal glints sometimes in the dim lighting and he can’t make himself look away. 

Harry doesn't know why he stays or why he’s still here. He could go anywhere and do anything. There is a woman as alluring as this one in London and yet he’s only seeing her now. Why doesn’t he just go? He could travel and see the world and all those that inhabit it.

He sees a flash of platinum hair through the crowd and swallows. 

He thinks of baby Teddy who has no one but Andromeda Tonks and who in turn has no one but Harry. He thinks of Hermione hugging him tightly the night before and Ron showing up to Grimmauld to look for him. He thinks of Luna holding his hand and the possibility of not showing up to her back-to-Hogwarts party that she’s so excited over. He thinks of Ginny crying and begging him not to leave almost a month ago and George with his head on Harry’s shoulder after a night of drinking in his backyard. He thinks of Molly Weasley’s motherly concern and McGonagall’s fond sternness. Minerva McGonagall - who is now a headmistress and expects Harry to be something and does not want his time at Hogwarts to be for nothing. 

He bends his head and kisses the beautiful girl in front of him. 

He wants to leave. But he also wants to stay. He loves so many people but he also resents that love. When he was a child, loving someone always came with a cost and he finds that to be true even more so now that he is an adult.

Expectations have ruined him. 

Harry likes to think he doesn’t care about anything or anyone anymore - that he’s above that now. But the truth is that he just doesn't care as _much_. He still finds himself cutting away pieces of himself for other people and he still wants to try to please everyone. He’s just not as successful. It makes him feel weak - the indecision and unsureness - the overall conflict of Harry Potter’s identity.

Maybe that’s why he likes fucking people and drinking himself into a stupor every night, why he likes the dangerous magic that courses through him, because it makes him feel anything _but_ weak. He doesn’t feel like Harry Potter, which is a good thing. Who in the hell wants to be Harry Potter?

The woman leads him outside to where there’s no light at all and she drops to her knees. Harry finds that he likes the feeling of the cool metal on his cock, too. 

The woman has to leave soon after and insists on giving him her number before she leaves. She scribbles it down on a napkin at the bar and Harry doesn’t bother telling her that he doesn’t own a cellphone. 

He buys another drink before going in search of Draco. Harry finds him sweaty and flushed and smiling widely. Harry grins back and their arms fall around each other as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Harry tips his head back and relishes in the fact that they both feel as far away from life as they long to be. 

Blaise and his boyfriend are the first to leave, then Pansy with a kiss to Draco’s cheek and a middle finger to Harry that he returns with his sweetest smile. Draco drags them both back to Grimmauld with glitter on his face and Pansy’s lipstick stain on his cheek. 

Harry seemed to blink one moment and then there was Kreacher with a disapproving stare. Another blink and Harry was standing in his bedroom with Draco struggling out of his clothes and collapsing into Harry’s bed. Harry undressed until he was in his boxers and slid under the sheets next to Draco. The sheets were cool against his fevered skin and Harry knew he would wake up sick and disgusting but, for now, he felt numb and light and sleepy. He could feel Draco rustling beside him and it was easy to close his eyes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry wakes to someone thumping him on the head. Repeatedly. He groaned, his eyes flickering open. An amused set of grey eyes is staring back at him from the other side of the mattress. The pale, slender hand moves to thump him again and Harry tilts his head to bite at it. 

The body jerks, ripping the hand away. “Ow! That hurt.”

Harry smiles, his eyes falling closed again. “That was the point. Now, make yourself useful and pass me a hangover potion.”

Draco clicks his tongue but still hands him a vial from the bedside drawer. 

Harry swallows the bitter potion down and practically moans with relief. “So, what are our plans for today?”

“First of all, we both need showers. We’re disgusting and I’m meeting Professor Snape for lunch. He wrote to me and Mother yesterday. He offered to brew some of her potions and we obviously accepted.”  
  
It’s been two days since Snape disappeared from Harry’s kitchen counter. Harry had begun to think the next time they would see each other would be at Hogwarts. 

Harry blinks for a moment. “Could I join you?”

Draco raises a brow. “In the shower?”

He laughs. “No, for lunch.”

Draco stares. “I'm sorry, did you just willingly volunteer to join me for lunch with Severus Snape? My godfather Severus Snape, our old potions professor Severus Snape, bane of your existence Severus Snape?”

Harry grins. “I’m in the mood for a little masochism.”

Draco scoffs, sliding out of bed far too elegantly for someone who drank their liver away and danced until the sun rose the night before. Draco’s tolerance is lower than Harry’s but he always bounces back faster. It’s ridiculous. “Your entire personality is one big masochistic streak.”

He snickers. “Truer words have never been spoken. So, what about it? Of course if you want all of his attention, I won’t go.”

Draco stares with narrowed eyes before levelling him with a glare. “I won’t stop you from coming but you have to be on your best behavior. I don’t want to be playing peacekeeper the entire fucking time or sitting there awkwardly while the two of you glare at each other.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair and down his face. “Draco, darling, he’ll be content to ignore me the entire time. I just don’t want to miss an opportunity to see where the great git lives. Far be it for me to interfere in Daddy-Son bonding time.”

Draco rolls his eyes before locking himself in Harry’s attached bathroom. 

Harry groans. “You could at least use one of the guest bathrooms, since, you know, you are a guest. All of my things are in there.” 

“So are mine!” He calls out haughtily. “As if I would use the commoner’s soap you have stocked in the bloody guest rooms.” 

Harry frowns. Kreacher stocks the bathrooms with what Harry uses for himself but, of course, that’s not bloody good enough for Draco Malfoy. That most likely explains why he has so much random poncey shit lying about that doesn’t belong to him. 

Harry groans louder, burying his head in his pillow before jerking out of bed and stumbling into the hall in search of a bathroom. He showers and washes his hair, his fingers catching on tangles as he tries to rinse the shampoo out. Once he’s finished, he can barely force himself to look in the mirror. He dries his hair and cleans his teeth with a wandless charm because he’s not in the mood to do it the muggle way this morning. 

He wraps a towel around his waist and ambles back into his bedroom - only to find Draco still in the shower. Harry suspects he’ll be in there a good twenty minutes more. Harry throws on muggle clothes, a grey shirt and a pair of old jeans with the knees unravelling. He calls out over the sound of running water and Draco’s awful singing, “I’m making breakfast!”

Draco yells back, “Excellent! I want french toast and sugar. With strawberries!”

Harry rolls his eyes, grumbling. “You’ll get what I give you.” He knows that he’ll make it all specifically to Draco’s liking anyways. He’s easy like that.

He padded downstairs and started unloading what he would need to cook from the pantry and fridge. Harry loved cooking in all honesty. He even preferred to do it the muggle way - everything by hand. It gave him something productive to do that didn’t seem like too much effort. 

He had refurbished a lot of Number 12 to be more modern and comfortable. Harry had bribed Kreacher to allow the changes to the property with the promise of all the Black’s nasty artifacts and sketchy books he desired. He offered to have Kreacher work for Draco at Malfoy Manor or to be even given his freedom but Kreacher had denied both vehemently. Harry couldn’t say it was a comfortable arrangement between them at times; but it had gotten more familiar to see Kreacher ambling about cleaning rooms or staring at portraits reverently. 

Kreacher was most likely outside at the moment. Harry liked cooking breakfast so he had encouraged Kreacher to find some other way to entertain himself in the mornings while Kreacher had the opportunity to make lunch and dinner if Harry was still around. Kreacher usually gardened in the mornings and then did daily housework and chores. On a good day, he could be found reading in the attic. 

A few weeks after the war and Voldemort’s demise, Harry was still set on being an auror and marrying Ginny and starting a family. He felt productive and free and wanted to start his life anew - hence the changes to Sirius’ and now Harry’s home. 

After those few weeks of redecorating and domesticity, Harry lost it. He realized it was all rather pointless. Harry was free, but free to do what? Who even was Harry Potter without the war or Voldemort? He certainly wasn’t the exact fucking replica of his father he was striving so hard to be. None of it felt as good as he thought it would. None of it felt _right_. The more normal he tried to be, the more it felt like he was itching to crawl out of his own skin. 

He was making a home but for whom? The Harry he was now didn’t want one. He didn’t want monogamy or love or a job or responsibilities of any kind. 

Now, Harry had all but isolated himself and subsisted on nothing but alcohol and aggression. 

Draco came down not too long after, dressed in immaculate black slacks with a white and blue shirt. He watched Harry cook, prattling on about Blaise’s new boyfriend while he poured himself a glass of orange juice. When he was done with Draco’s french toast, he made himself an omelet. 

Harry poured a mug of coffee and sat down at the counter to eat, trying not to think about whose bare ass was there only a few nights ago.

Once they finished their breakfast, Draco drug him upstairs to one of the parlors. They collapsed on one of the sofas and Draco poured them both a glass of scotch. Draco warned him that he couldn’t get drunk if he wanted to come with him today and Harry nodded his assent. He thought it was ridiculous that Draco wanted to make some kind of good impression on Snape. They were both far from respectable young men now but to each their own.

Harry finished his glass before settling down to nap and Draco sat back with one of the many books from the Black library. If Harry couldn’t drink, then sleeping was the next best option, especially with Draco beside him. Harry only ever had nightmares when he was alone.

Draco woke him up an hour later and Harry felt groggy and disgruntled. Draco obviously could care less and started to prod him toward the door. 

Harry raised a brow. “We’re not flooing there?”

Draco laughed. “Of course not. Professor Snape doesn’t even have a floo.”

Harry blinked in confusion. “Why not? Does he just apparate everywhere?”

“He’s a shut-in, Harry. A paranoid shut-in. He’s only at his home during the summers and he doesn’t like going places or allowing visitors. He especially doesn’t like randoms having the capability of flooing to his home.”

“He could just key only certain individuals to his floo.”

“Who do you think he would allow the privilege?”

Harry shrugs. “You? I don’t know.”

Draco shook his head. “You try suggesting that to him. He’ll probably kill me for revealing where he lives to _you_. As far as I know, the only ones who know the location are my family and some of the professors at Hogwarts.”

When he thinks about Snape’s character, it does make sense. He’s private and unfriendly and indeed very paranoid. He wonders what Snape’s reaction will be to Harry showing up on his doorstep today. He imagines the possible shock and rage and indignation. Perhaps, there will even be fear or humiliation. Perhaps, Snape is scared that Harry has told someone about the night of the Minister’s party. 

Maybe, Snape will see Harry and feel embarrassed at the knowledge that the last time they were together Snape all but begged Harry to take him on his kitchen counter. 

Harry imagines dark eyes heated with emotion and white, clenched hands and Harry can’t deny a sense of giddiness.

Draco leads him along the sidewalk outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The day is hot and there is not a cloud in the sky. There are muggles in almost every direction taking advantage of the good weather. A middle-aged business woman is speaking rapidly into her cell phone as she strides past them. A married couple’s hands are intertwined as they whisper to each other and smile at something only they can understand. A father is herding his children along with frantic hands as they push at each other and squeal. Three teenage boys are smirking and nudging each other as if in appreciation of a shared joke. A young woman sits on a bench with a rather appetizing To-Go coffee. 

It’s become almost alarming to leave the door of Number 12 and find that the world spins on the same for most people on this spinning globe of blue and green. He wonders what it must be like to be so very, very normal. It’s as if he’s stumbled into a zoo and he for once isn’t the trapped animal being gawked at but instead the careless viewer. 

Draco nudges him behind the coffee shop on the corner of the street. Harry glances back at the storefront and wouldn’t mind stopping to get a fancy coffee for himself but Draco pushes him forward. 

He grabs Draco’s outstretched hand when they stand behind the putrid dumpster in the back alley. Harry still hates the queasy feeling of apparition as he and Draco are squeezed through tight space and spat back out. 

When Harry blinks his eyes open, he sees bright sunlight and green, green, _green_. He can smell honeysuckle and smoke. They’re standing in a small field with waving tendrils of tall grass encased by a small copse of trees. The midday sun is heavy on his skin, only lessened by the slightest breeze. There are indeed wildflowers and a slight path through the grass leads to an old cottage made out of stone and high beams of oak. There is a garden of what looks like herbs or vegetables and a greenhouse stands nearby. 

“Does a princess live here? Or Professor Sprout, perhaps?”

Draco smothers a laugh. “If you think Professor Snape is a princess, sure.”

Harry supposes Professor Snape could be a pillow princess, if anything. Harry tilts his head, examining the cottage closely. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

Draco pushes him down the path. “Well, you don’t really know him, do you?”

Harry blinks at that. He thought he knew a lot about Snape. All that was worth knowing, anyways. He then remembers that he hadn’t even known the other wizard’s preferences and had already made a good many assumptions about Snape that were proven inaccurate. Harry should really know by now not to judge.

They amble down the short path together until they reach the cobblestones in front of the cottage and the tall, wooden door. There’s not a door bell or even a knocker he realizes with some amusement. 

Harry can smell the herbs in the garden now that they’re closer. Basil, thyme, and perhaps lavender. He couldn’t imagine Snape working in a garden but it also makes sense. The man is a Potions Master after all. Why wouldn’t he plant and cultivate his own ingredients?

Draco shifts nervously before nuding Harry and sending him a warning glare. Harry raises his hands and dons his most innocent expression. It doesn’t seem to appease him in the slightest. He looks like he’s beginning to regret allowing Harry to accompany him. Harry can’t believe Draco brought him along in the first place. 

Draco finally swallows his hesitation and knocks on the door. 

There’s silence and they wait for a moment. Draco shifts on his feet again. Then, they can hear the sound of footsteps before a lock clicks. Harry marvels at Snape having a Muggle lock on his door. Harry can feel magic seeping around the house so he knows that there’s definitely wards and magical protection so it’s curious to add a muggle lock into the mix.

The door opens and Snape stands on the threshold. He’s wearing muggle clothes, a white button down shirt tucked into dark pants with loafers. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen him in the color white or out of the boots he likes to wear with his wizarding robes. 

There’s something easy around his eyes and the curve of his mouth. He’s relaxed. 

His hair looks clean and it isn’t hanging into his face for once. There’s...there is a very prominent scar along the side of his pale throat and Harry is struck with the realization that Snape glamours it from the eyes of others, that Harry hadn’t even been able to feel the ridges of it along his lips on the night of the Minister’s party. 

Harry is hit with a crushing wave of regret. He regrets intruding on him when it’s obvious that this is his safe place and he would in no way want anyone he didn’t trust seeing him like this. Harry understands that. There are very few people that are allowed to see Harry without the hard exterior of intoxication and the cold shell of aloofness and arrogance he dons like a cloak. 

Harry feels that this is the first and last time he will ever see Snape as Severus. 

Harry watches as Snape takes in the sight of him on his doorstep and a tight tension descends along the frame of his body and the features of his face. He can see the way his shoulders straighten rigidly and his lips curl downwards, how his eyes become shadowed and his fists clench. He is again the professor Harry is so familiar with. 

“What is he doing here?” The words are hoarse but with a bite of steel. 

Harry swallows. He should apologize and leave. He feels _guilty_. He came here for the express purpose of intruding and making Snape uncomfortable and angry but Harry didn’t expect it to be...like this. But it’s too late now. Much like Snape, Harry doesn’t allow people a glimpse inside him so he remains on Snape’s doorstep with a nonchalant, bored expression. The Harry that Snape knows would undoubtedly say something, antagonize him about his appearance or where he lives, but Harry can’t bring himself to do so. It is all he can do to just stand there and appear unfeeling.

Draco stutters out an apology. “I couldn’t get rid of him, Professor. I’ll make him leave if he’s too much of a nuisance.”

Harry would let him, too. He doesn’t want to be here and he needs a drink desperately. Alcohol would definitely make this experience easier. He wouldn’t have to think or feel so much. He could be numb to everything but what he wants to feel. That’s the beauty of intoxication. Harry doesn't think it’s an addiction or a weakness. It’s protection and medication and liquid closure. 

Draco glances between them with a frightful look on his face. “Would you like him to leave, sir?”

Harry stares at Snape and Snape stares at Harry. 

Snape looks uncomfortable and unprepared. Harry can read the anger and restrained vitriol and violence along his body. He can see the traces of embarrassment and underlying vulnerability in his face. 

Snape swallows and Harry’s eyes follow the movement before his eyes snag on his scar again. He didn’t think Snape would ever feel self-conscious enough to hide something away. It makes him almost appear human when his hand reaches up - as if to touch or cover the scar with his palm - before he yanks his arm back down and his face fuses red. 

Snape finally says, “I don’t want him in my house. He can wait outside like a dog.” 

Harry smiles at that. Finally. This is something he can work with and he doesn’t have to feel like he wants to crawl out of his skin with guilt because of it. If Snape antagonizes him first, then Harry has free reign to retaliate. 

“You would know all about being a dog, wouldn’t you? You’ve been the lapdog to enough people.”

His face goes white and Harry tries not to relish in the reaction. Just a moment ago, he was so worried about Snape’s feelings and now he’s all but savoring the pain he’s inflicting because at least it’s not Harry’s pain this time. 

Draco sends him a cold glare and elbows him harshly in the side. Harry straightens his shoulders and says, “It’s fine. I can wait outside, Snape.” He says it politely and dons his sweetest and most innocent expression. Harry knows it pushes all of Snape’s buttons when he acts like this.

Snape is all but fuming as he says, “No. I wouldn’t dream of leaving the savior out here to sweat. Come in.”

Harry grins. He steps into his space, looking down at him as he passes, and he sees a flash of something cross Snape's face. It makes Harry wonder if he’s remembering that night as well. 

Snape's house is small and evidently lived in but clean. It smells like incense and cooking food and parchment. His house is the opposite of what Harry expected, just as the outside was. 

It looks inviting in all honesty. There's an open kitchen and living room floor plan and a short hall to the right that he assumes leads to a bathroom and Snape’s bedroom. There’s a leather couch with a quilt folded over the back and a plush navy armchair. Books are everywhere - in stacks and on bookshelves - amidst the worn but well stated furniture and Oriental rugs. There are two windows that look out onto the backyard and sunlight streams inside, making shapes and shadows on the floor. Harry catches a whiff of whatever’s cooking in the kitchen and he tries to imagine Snape bustling about with an apron like Molly Weasley.

Draco follows him inside warily and Snape shuts the door with a tight expression.

“I had thought we could eat outside.”

Draco forces a smile. “That sounds great. It smells fantastic, sir.”

Harry traces the embossed cover of a book on a teetering stack pressed against the wall. “You, of course, don’t have to feed me, Snape. I know I’m an unexpected gift this afternoon.”

Snape frowns. “ _Professor_ Snape.”

Harry smirks, glancing his way. “Apologies, Professor.”

Snape frowns harder. “A more apt description of your presence would be a curse or a plague, really. And oh, no, Potter, I insist. I have plenty to eat. It would be rude to reject my food, would it not? Ruder than showing up announced, anyways.”

Harry chuckles, ambling closer. “Of course, if you _insist_.”

Snape smiles - all teeth. “Good. Draco, go outside. Potter and I will bring the food.”

Draco gapes, looking unsurely from Snape to Harry before Snape barks, “Go.”

Draco jolts before shooting a fearful look at Harry and slipping out the screen door to the patio in the backyard. 

Harry gives a nonchalant smile. 

Snape glares before stalking into the kitchen and swishing his wand, wordlessly summoning plates and cutlery down from the cabinets. He directs Harry to the utensils and glasses as he begins dishing the pasta and salad into serving bowls. 

Harry glances at him from the corner of his eye as he gets enough cups and forks for all three of them. “Should I ask for a guarantee you won’t poison me, or worse, spit in my food?”

Snape does not look up from his task as he says emotionlessly, “You’ve had my tongue in your mouth, Potter. Let’s stop playing now.”

Harry blinks before grinning slowly. “Who’s playing?” He practically purrs the words as he faces him fully. 

Snape finally looks up and stares at him with a deadpan expression. “What do you want?”

“Who says I want anything from you? Perhaps, I’m just bored.”

Snape removes his hands from the food as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I think you would have plenty to occupy your time with all the debauchery you immerse yourself in.”

Harry smirks and steps closer. “What? Like disrobing and groping my professors?”

Snape’s jaw clenched as he cast his eyes down. “We were drunk and it will never happen again. It meant nothing and I don’t remember half the things I said. It should have _never_ happened.”

Harry hums. “Maybe not. But it is interesting, isn’t it? That you and I, of all people, ended up like that?” He lets out a soft whistle between his teeth. “You were something else that night. I don’t know if I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing someone so very eager.”

Snape glares with an angry flush on his skin, his hair falling into his dark eyes. “Shut your insolent mouth. You will never speak of this again.”

“Why? Is it embarrassing to think of yourself like that?” He takes a step closer, his voice lowering to almost a whisper. “Or is it only because it was with me?”

“I am your professor.” He hisses the words between gritted teeth. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “No one fucking cares, Snape. I’m almost eighteen, past the age of legality. I’m not technically even a student. We’re going to be fucking eighth years.” He leans closer. “Besides, you’re the one who brought it up. I was perfectly fine with keeping our skeletons in the closet. You were the one who sent poor Draco outside and seemed so very eager to drag me into a kitchen alone for the _second_ time.” He grins slyly. “Are you hoping history will repeat itself?”

Snape's eyes are black and hateful and Harry can’t tell if he’s about to be attacked or kissed. Snape lifts his hand, as if he was going to push Harry or go for his wand, but then let’s his hand fall and turns on his heel.

“Bring the plates.” He hissed as he stalks off with the food and cups levitating around him. The door to the patio swings open and Harry laughs as he practically flees. Harry takes the plates and cutlery in his hands and follows after him, shutting the door behind him with his foot. He sets his haul down on the black metallic table under the awning of the house gently. 

Snape grabs them from him before his fingertips even leave the cool porcelain and he begins setting the table as if it’s a mission. Harry sits between Snape and Draco, with his back to the rest of the yard, which is gated in by a white wooden fence. There is a small vegetable patch and flowers planted in beds along the side of the house and fence. The aroma is heady. 

Draco says, “The food looks delicious, sir.”

It does. Harry doesn’t know why that surprises him, either. There is pasta with what looks like Alfredo sauce and an array of grilled and sautéed meats and vegetables. There is a plentiful salad and also a bowl of baked bread that he hadn’t seen Snape prepare.

Snape gives a curt nod of thanks before beginning to dish food onto his plate. He still seems pissed and Harry smothers a laugh as he pours himself a glass of pumpkin juice. It’s the only option Snape provided for them to drink. It’s cool and flavorful and Harry hasn’t had it since he was in Hogwarts. 

Harry is content to let Snape and Draco converse and ignore him after that. He enjoys his food and tries to disregard the itch for a drink of something stronger than pumpkin juice. 

He catches a word every now and again from their conversation but it’s never anything terribly interesting or that Harry doesn’t already know. The new eighth year regulations, Narcissa’s temperament and health, and potions, potions, and more potions. They discuss new research, books, substitutes for ingredients, techniques, bloody cauldrons. It’s all very dull but Draco is enthralled and Harry would say it’s the most pleasant Snape has ever looked or sounded if he hadn’t seen him near orgasm a few nights ago.

Harry is interrupted from his musings by a sleepy meow. Harry all but jolts, spinning around in his seat to face the yard. There’s a calico cat creeping along the side of the fence. It stops walking to stretch and arch it’s back. Harry grins. 

Draco hurriedly interjects, “Leave his cat alone, Harry.”

Snape tenses before glaring at him. “I second that, Potter.”

Harry rolls his eyes and stands. “I just want to pet her. Relax.”

Harry usually tries to pet any animal he comes across. It always makes Draco terribly embarrassed when he approaches muggles on the street, asking to pet their dogs. Snape, on the other hand, seems fearful for his cat’s life. 

He ambles over to her with Snape’s weighty gaze drilling holes into his back. He crouches down in front of her. “Hello, pretty.” He outstretches his hand patiently. 

She regards him cooly with green and gray eyes before inching closer and pushing her head into his waiting hand. Harry smiles and begins to pet her, running his fingers over her soft fur and rubbing her fuzzy ears. 

He sits down in the grass and motions her to climb onto his lap. He practically coos when she daintily steps onto his calves and curls up, purring. “What's her name, Snape?”

He looks up after receiving no answer. Snape is staring at him with a strange look in his eyes. 

Harry raises a brow in question. 

Snape frowns before saying quietly, “Ella.”

Harry looks down at the cat. “Ella,” he muses. He scratches behind her ears and under her chin as she purrs louder. 

Harry has always liked animals. He misses Hedwig all the time. Harry thinks of purchasing another pet after encountering someone else’s - but once he leaves, he can never manage to bring himself to do so. 

He pets and plays with the cat for a while before she grows bored of him and starts chasing a bumblebee in the flower beds. Harry huffs a laugh before lying back in the grass with a huff. The sun is dazzling and so warm on his skin. He watches the wisps of clouds for a while before dozing off to the low murmuring of Snape and Draco’s voices and the occasional breeze through the trees.

He wakes to Draco’s face for the third time that day. “Come on, Harry. We should go.”

Harry practically whines, deep and drawn out. He hears Draco’s exasperated laugh. “You’ve slept all day. Have you acquired a case of narcolepsy by chance?”

“I wish,” he grumbles.

Draco scoffs and moves to pull him up by his bicep. Harry instead reaches a hand up and drags him down by his wrist. Draco makes a noise of surprise, “What the hell, Harry? We’re not at home, you know? You’re literally in Professor Snape's yard, in the filthy grass.”

He groans when he realizes that they are indeed still at Snape's house. He could tell he was on the ground. It was hard beneath him and the grass was itchy against his arms. He could feel the sun on his face but he thought they were at the Manor after playing quidditch or in Harry’s yard at Grimmauld or even at the Burrow. He feels resentment knowing that Snape's probably laughing at him right now. 

He blinks, raising up and running a hand over his face and through his hair. “What time is it?”

“It’s 2. Come on. We don’t want to take up too much of Professor Snape's time.”

He glances at the shaded table and Snape is still there. All of the dishes and remaining food are gone but there are two teacups now. He swallows and stands. He hears a meow and looks down. Ella is curled up by his feet. His lips twitch, “Goodbye, pretty.”

He bends down to caress her ear. She purrs. He smiles and stands straight, slinging his arm around Draco’s shoulder and leaning on him heavily as Draco tries to herd him toward the door. 

Draco pauses in front of Snape. “Goodbye, sir. Lunch was lovely. Thank you for having us and, especially, for the potions. It was very generous of you.”

Snape nods. “You are welcome. I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts. If you need anything else for Narcissa, feel free to let me know.”

“Thank you, sir.” Draco nudges Harry in the side. “Say thank you for lunch, Harry.”

Harry blinks, swinging his eyes to Snape who appears bored. “Thank you,” he drawls.

Snape’s dark eyes finally look at him. He gets the barest nod and both him and Draco stiffen at even that much acknowledgement. 

Draco coughs awkwardly. “Well...we’ll take our leave then.”

Snape stands, brushing off his pants. “Let me show you to the door.”

“Do you think we’re going to steal something?”

Draco hisses sharply, “Harry!”

Harry hates that in any other scenario Draco would have laughed or even made a similar comment, but because it’s his godfather, he wants to be civil. 

Snape actually rolls his eyes as he opens the back door and motions them inside languidly. “With you here, Potter, nothing would surprise me.”

That shocks a laugh out of Harry, which in turn, makes him a little upset. He glances at Draco, “Where are Narcissa’s potions?”

“They are in my pockets. We do have magic, Potter, in case you’ve forgotten. I can’t very well carry them with your hulking frame draped all over me, now can I? Last time I checked, you had two working legs.”

Harry snickered into the cloth of his shoulder. “I just woke up, Malfoy. You can’t expect me to function just yet. Also, don’t pretend you don’t like it. This is probably the most action you’ve gotten in weeks.”

Draco squawks. “That is not true and you know it!”

Harry laughs harder.

Draco groans. “I’m going to push you off of me and leave you here with Professor Snape to do with as he pleases.”

Harry grins, casting a look back at Snape. “Sounds like a lot of fun, actually. Perhaps, you should leave me.”

Snape visibly grinds his teeth. “Remain here, Potter, and all you’ll receive is a hex.” Snape stalks past them and opens the front door.

Harry pulls off of Draco’s shoulder. He lags behind until Draco has already hurried outside when he looks at Snape and says softly, “Goodbye, pretty.”

Snape stiffens and appears absolutely furious. He slams the door shut before Harry can slip through, nearly catching Harry's leg in the door before he jerked it back. He blinked, turning to look at Snape incredulously. Perhaps, Snape was going to hex him for that comment after all, if so this would be a duel of the ages. Harry won’t even have to get his wand out most likely. He can’t wait to see the look on Snape’s slimy face when Harry overpowers him without even casting with a wand. Harry steps up to him with a set jaw. 

Snape fists his hands into Harry's T-shirt and pushes him against the door. Harry prepares himself for whatever dark curse Snape is going to throw at him until Snape smashes his lips against Harry’s mouth.

Snape kisses him _hard_ \- with force. 

Harry blinks, his eyes wide. He feels as if he has gotten whiplash. Snape’s fingers tighten around the cloth of his shirt and his tongue touches Harry’s lower lip. It sends a curl of heat through his stomach.

Harry closes his eyes and kisses back. His hands clutch Snape’s narrow hips closer until there is no air between them, only the solidness of their bodies pressed together. 

Snape makes this breathless sound, his lips parting on the exhale. Harry tastes him quickly, taking advantage of the opening. He turned them so Snape was pressed against the door now. 

Snape’s hands quickly untangled from the cloth of Harry’s shirt and fisted into his hair, making him groan. 

He stuck his leg in between Snape’s thighs and Snape’s grip tightened, his breath hitching. They almost simultaneously begin to rut against each other, hard and fast and unyielding.

Harry can feel Snape’s cock now, hard and stiff against his thigh. Snape’s hips jerk against the hard muscle in motions so quick they seem sloppy. Harry is aroused at the desperateness of his actions, of the almost pained noises slipping through his lips. Harry pulls away and Snape almost animalistically tries to jerk him back against his body. 

Harry slams him against the door harshly before reaching forward and unbuttoning Snape’s pants and jerking the zipper down. Snape stills, his chest heaving and his hands fluttering in the air as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Harry moved his hands to his jeans and Snape watched as he unbuttoned the denim before jerking the pants down to his knees. Snape’s face seems to burn hotter, his breath hitching, when he sees Harry’s erection through his boxers.

Harry pressed against him and a startled moan left Snape’s red, bitten lips. Harry laughed breathily, “Are you just going to stand there?”

Harry licks over his parted lips and Snape jolts against him before kissing back, licking into his mouth greedily. Harry’s hands cup Snape through his underwear and Snape thrusts into the pressure blindly. Snape exhales harshly before letting his hands fall to the waistband of Harry’s boxers and pushing them down to his thighs. Harry’s breath caught at the abruptness of it and the air against his now bare cock. 

Snape stares at him before glancing up at Harry’s face. Harry jerks Snape’s underwear down and moves until they’re touching. Harry groans and Snape practically keens. Harry thrusts against him, their cocks sliding together and they both moan at the feeling. Snape’s hands wrap around his back, clutching his shoulders. Harry wraps a hand around both of their cocks and thrusts into the grip harshly, the precome making the slide of their cocks easy. 

Harry leans his other hand over Snape’s shoulder, against the sturdy wood of the door, as he thrusts up harder. Snape drags Harry’s face down by his hair and kisses him as they move together, harsh and violent. Their hips jerked mindlessly into Harry’s fist until the kiss was broken and all they could do was breathe against the other’s mouth. 

Harry is grunting, the pressure and slide of Snape’s cock so good, until he hears Snape make the most lewd sound Harry thinks he has ever heard. His eyes open quickly and Harry can see Snape’s dark brows furrowed and his teeth digging into his lip. His eyes are screwed shut and his thrusts have become erratic.

Harry smirks lazily as he moves his fist to wrap tightly around Snape’s cock and jerks him - hard and fast - until Snape is all but crying, his nails raking down the cloth of Harry’s shirt. He thrusts wildly into Harry’s fist until he cries out and comes with his head thrown back into the wood of the door with a loud and painful bang. Harry laughs quietly, “Well, that was dramatic.” 

Harry collects some of the come that’s splattered along his palm and Snape's stomach and smears it over his cock, stroking himself easily with the new slickness. 

Snape’s eyes flutter open and his mouth gapes as he sees what Harry’s doing. Harry reaches forward and collects more of it onto his fingertips, spreading it along the skin of Snape’s inner thighs. 

Snape shivers and all but writhes against the door. He asks hoarsely, “What are you doing?”

Harry smiles slowly before purring, “Would you let me fuck your thighs, Snape?”

Snape’s face flushes and his mouth opens wider, as if he’s speechless at even the suggestion of it. 

Harry raises a brow, letting his fingertips linger on his skin. “Hm?”

Harry moves his hand back to his cock, squeezing it lightly. Snape’s eyes flit down to watch him and his breath hitches. He nods his head jerkily and rasps out, “Yes.”

Harry grins and flips Snape, pressing his front roughly against the door. Snape makes an annoyed sound and Harry snickers. He steps close and relishes in the way Snape shivers as Harry’s cock presses against his ass before he pushes into the slick space he’s made between his thighs. Harry sighs at the sensation and thrusts into the warmth. 

He fucks Snape’s thighs, his hips pounding against his ass, just like they would if he were actually fucking him. Snape is outright moaning and shaking beneath him as Harry thrusts harshly against him. Harry grunts at the way Snape tightens his thighs around him, how his hands are fumbling over the door in a search for something to hold. 

Snape makes this high, choked noise and Harry loses himself a little. He thrusts brutally, fast and hard. Harry’s hands tighten around his bony hips. Snape’s head bangs against the door with Harry’s movements as if his strings have been cut. “Fuck!” Harry gasps and bites into Snape’s shoulder, which is now bare from where the shirt that had been covering him slipped down. Harry comes with a shout, a wave of ecstasy washing over him. He rides his orgasm out, thrusting in slowly before pulling his cock out from between Snape’s thighs. Come drips down the pale, quivering skin. 

Harry runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, panting. He turns Snape to face him. 

He looks wrecked. His lip is bleeding from where he’s bitten it or busted it against the door. A line of drool is creeping down his chin, past his spit soaked lips. His hair is damp from sweat and pushed back from his face. Snape’s skin is flushed and his eyes are heavy and so very dark. Harry can see come splattered over the door behind him. He laughs quietly. “Fuck, did you come again or is that mine?” 

Snape just pulls his face down and kisses him, biting at his lips and Harry groans into it. He moves his lips down to Snape’s shoulder, where he can still see a faint imprint on his skin from where Harry pressed his teeth in when he came. Harry kisses and licks the mark before kissing along the long expanse of his neck. Snape writhes against him before stiffening. 

He pushed Harry away harshly. “Get off!”

Harry stumbles back and raises his brows incredulously. “What the fuck, Snape?” 

Harry looks him over curiously before understanding. Snape’s hand is clenched over the side of his neck, where Harry had been kissing him, where Harry had forgotten a huge scar was located. 

Snape’s hands are shaky as he wordlessly summons his wand and presses the tip against the scar, glamouring the mark into nothing. He adjusts the collar of his shirt quickly, looking away from Harry and stuffing himself back into his underwear without even casting a cleaning charm.

All of this because of Snape’s scar - the scar he apparently keeps hidden from anyone. Harry hadn’t remembered it was there or realized that it was so near to his lips. 

“Why do you cover it?”

Snape struck him with a scathing glare as he jerked his pants up and buttoned them with fumbling fingers. He stepped away from the door. “Get out.” His voice is cold.

Harry scoffed. “I don’t think so, Snape. You’re the one who kept me here, so you have to put up with me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he snarled.

Harry sighed and cast a cleaning charm before pulling up his underwear and his jeans. “Of course, you don’t. It’s none of my business. I can kind of see why you would, I suppose. I’m littered with scars, Snape. I never got the opportunity to hide any of mine because everyone knew of them, no matter who I told. I used to hate mine, too. So, I just...I know you don’t care about what I have to say, but you shouldn’t feel ashamed. Everyone has scars after the war.”

Snape stares at him for a long moment before his lip curls disdainfully. “Draco will be waiting. _Leave_.”

Merlin, he had forgotten about Draco. How long had it been since Snape pushed him against the door? Draco was probably panicking, thinking they were in here killing each other. 

Harry winces and runs a hand over his face and through his hair. He nods at Snape, “I’ll go.”

He can see Snape’s shoulders slump with visible relief. Harry can’t resist letting his fingers brush Snape’s before opening the still come-splattered door and slipping outside. 

Draco is pacing along the path a little ways down, obviously fretting. Harry huffs a laugh and Draco quickly turns to him. “Oh, thank Salazar. I thought you were dead or worse. I was debating on calling someone. I didn’t know what to do.” Draco’s grey eyes scan over him hurriedly. “You do look a little disheveled. Did you duel? Is Professor Snape alright? I couldn’t get in or hear anything. It’s like the entire house was closed to me.”

Harry pushes down the path, not wanting to stay any longer. “All’s well, Draco. We had a little duel, you could say. But no harm done, I promise.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “Should I go and check on him?”

“No, I imagine he wants to be left alone.”

Draco stared at him, still concerned, before nodding. 

They parted ways there, Draco apparating to the Manor and Harry back behind the dumpster. He stopped at the coffee shop on the walk back to Grimmauld, thinking about the Muggle girl he had seen with the To-Go coffee and how tasty it looked earlier. He ordered a Frappe and chatted with the muggles in line, even if they looked disgruntled at the attention. 

He wandered down the sidewalk, sipping at the sugary caffeine and smiling at passersby. When he returned to Grimmauld, he walked through the front door to find Hermione sitting in the foyer and Kreacher serving her tea. 

“Hermione. What are you doing here?”

She smiled and Harry could tell that she was nervous. Her smile was almost fake and her ankle was bobbing. “Hi, Harry. I’m sorry for stopping in like this. It’s just...I said that I would visit after Kingsley’s party and it’s been days since then. I apologize.”

Harry hums, drinking another sip of coffee through the plastic straw. He flops beside her onto the sofa. “Don’t even think of it. You have a much busier schedule than I do.”

Hermione blinked in evident surprise. “Oh, well, yes. But I didn’t write or anything.”

He smiled easily. “It’s fine. It’s not like I asked you to come. You invited yourself.” He laughed quietly, nudging her shoulder.

Hermione blinked again, slowly starting to smile. “Yes, I suppose so. That’s doubly rude of me, isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled as he plucked a biscuit from the plate that Kreacher set out with the tea. 

He could feel Hermione staring. He raised a brow, “What is it?”

She shakes her head quickly. “Nothing.” She clears her throat. “Where have you been?” She looks very interested in the answer. 

“I was with Draco. Why? What’s wrong?”

She blinks again. “You were with Draco? Where did you go? What did you do?”

Harry gapes a little. “Why all the questions? You usually don’t want to know all the mischief we get up to on our own.”

She flushes lightly then. “So, you were... _out_ , then?” As if _out_ signified partaking in something dark and scandalous. “During the day, Harry?”

He snorts. “We were at Snape’s, actually.”

She gapes, opening and closing her mouth, with a furrow between her brows. “You were what? Why on earth were you at Professor Snape’s?”

Harry sips on his coffee, trying to work out what Hermione is thinking. “Snape made potions for Narcissa and cooked lunch. I crashed on his and Draco’s date.”

“Oh. Harry, you didn’t.” She looks unreasonably worried.

He grinned in amusement. “I did. You should see where he lives, Mione. It’s unbelievable.”

Hermione purses her lips. “That’s horrid of you, Harry. Why would you show up at Snape’s house, of all people?”

Harry shifts beside her. “Yeah, I felt a little bad about it.” 

She gapes, her brown eyes wide and glistening. “You did?”

He shrugs, looking away from her uneasily. “Well, yeah. He was clearly only expecting Draco. He looked so...different. Relaxed. I had never seen him like that before. I think I might have made it much harder for him to lower his guard around people.”

Hermione’s facial expression softened and she slid closer, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s okay, Harry. I’m sure if you apologized, then both you and Professor Snape would feel much better about it.”

Harry had another ‘AHA!’ moment. Hermione was trying to fix him. She was trying to guide him back into Pre-War Harry and she thought she was finding progress, a form of help, in Severus Snape. What in the actual fuck?

If only he could tell her that the only reason he was in a semi-good mood today was because Snape had given him an orgasm. He wonders what she would think if he told her that Snape could indeed help with Harry’s bad behavior - only by influencing it. Sex, booze, and violence are the best happy pills. 

Harry won’t tell her that, though. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with Hermione’s reaction to him and Snape fucking. So, he’ll let her think whatever she wants to think, no matter how off course she is.

Harry just nods and says, “You’re probably right.” Hermione appears satisfied and moves on to chat about her work at the Ministry. She asks him if he’s found anything that’s interested him of late and he resolutely shakes his head. 

She purses her lips but carries on with talk of Luna’s upcoming party that will take place in a few weeks. She asks him if he will help decorate and he nods his head vaguely. She looks delighted. Harry knows she’s pleased not only because he will be socializing with people who aren’t Slytherins, but also because Harry doesn’t act inappropriately in front of Luna - ever. It’s a rule.

“Have you visited Teddy and Andromeda recently?”

He finishes his coffee and almost pouts at the horrid sucking sound the empty straw makes. “I went on Monday. I’ll probably stop by again next week.”

She hums in acknowledgement and then starts speaking about the state of the Burrow and he tries not to shut down. She mentions Ron and George talking about opening up the joke shop again. 

She eventually leaves when Harry becomes more and more unresponsive. He feels a little bad at her downtrodden expression so he reaches out to hug her. She holds him tightly and says, almost brokenly, “I love you, Harry. You do know that, right?”

He nods against her shoulder but doesn’t say it back. He knows Hermione is aware that he loves her but he also knows he should say it, anyway. Something in him is fractured, though. He doesn’t want anyone to hear him say anything like that, nothing halfway honest or close to vulnerable. He’s scared for some irrational reason that he cannot comprehend. 

He wonders if it’s because he wishes that Hermione didn’t love him. He wonders if it’s because he wishes that no one loved him or knew him at all.

She smiles slightly as she pulls away, tracing a thumb over his furrowed brow, and leaves through the floo. When she disappears into the green flames, Harry falls back onto the sofa cushions as a tear traces down his cheek. 

The first sob bursts from his chest and he fists his hands into his hair and screams. A glass breaks in the kitchen and some bauble falls from the mantle and shatters. 

Kreacher pops into the space next to him and Harry cries harder. Kreacher sits heavily on the floor and wraps his tiny, withered hand around Harry’s jean clad ankle. The house elf has begun to do so every time Harry breaks like this.

The gentle touch is enough to make Harry only release his tears and the pathetic sounds from his trembling lips. He does not relinquish the tight hold on his churning magic again. It feels like a great, raging sea inside him but Harry does not let even a trace leak out of his body.

He knows Kreacher does this for Grimmauld Place and all the heirlooms that he treasures so much inside of it. Kreacher does this for the safety of the property and not because he cares about Harry in the slightest. This fact makes it easier for Harry to allow Kreacher to touch him when he feels like an overflowing cup. 

Kreacher has come to know him in the time they have been trapped together inside this horrid house. Kreacher knows that if he sits close to Harry and touches him when he’s not much more than a ticking time bomb, that it does not offer him comfort, but instead the incentive to control himself. Harry can feel the old house elf’s proximity and is therefore aware of his susceptibility to Harry’s power. Harry can feel how easy it would be to shatter Kreacher just like the bauble that is now in a million glittering shards on the floor. 

Harry cries harder, his chest heaving with the harsh wails splitting through his chattering teeth.

Harry Potter - Pre-War or Post-War - has never wanted to hurt anyone. 

No matter who it is, no matter how bad or how _good_ it would feel, Harry Potter has never wanted to hurt anyone or anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope the chapter was somewhat enjoyable. Please feel free to leave comments, I love them lol! Hopefully, I can get the next chapter out a bit sooner. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading and stay safe!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the wait. I realized that according to my timeline it would be Draco's birthday and there was no way that I could just skip over that so I re-worked a lot of this chapter. It's a little longer but I hope everyone enjoys it!

  
  
  


The sky was a blur of grey and stark white. The clouds were not much more than vague wisps of smoke. Harry woke to the rain pounding against the roof of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. 

By the time he managed to leave the warmth of his bed, stumble down the stairs, and rush into the backyard, the downpour had slackened into a light drizzle. The morning air was cool against his bare chest and the tiny droplets of rain felt ice cold as they slid down his skin. 

He could feel his hair beginning to stick to his temples, the dark strands damp and curling with rain. He stood under the dreary sky, goosebumps along his flesh, and tipped his head back to peer into the sky further. Harry stood there long enough for his vision to become blurred by the drops of rain collecting on the lenses of his glasses. 

Harry had become a fan of the rain and the sky and the clouds. Harry had become a fan of watching the weather shift and change and then remain the same. He liked how the sky’s mood was ever changing. The clouds were always moving, forming and then dissipating, over and over again. They hid the sun away and made the sky dark and colorless and cried their soggy tears onto the grass and dirty pavement. The sun would eventually peak out and burn them away little by little - making the sky blue again and drying the rain.

Harry liked being able to predict the sky’s unpredictability. Harry liked being able to predict something in a life where he had quickly lost all direction or purpose.

Kreacher finally called him inside after about an hour of standing in the still gloom. His voice was gruff and not much more than a croak. Harry followed him into the kitchen blindly, the droplets of rain running and smearing along his lenses. He sat down on one of the stools at the counter and grudgingly slipped the wire frames off the bridge of his nose. He looked at them, marveling at how his vision seemed to be even worse without the foggy and smeared glass to see through. 

It made sense. Harry had always felt so undefined and shapeless - a meaningless, fragmented blur. It made sense that his famed eyes would allow him to see the world in a filmy fog that hardly dissipated even with the help of glasses. 

He held an index finger over the fragile glass and watched as the rain condensed and seemed to evaporate into the air, his magic acting as a direct ray from the sun. He slipped the frames back on, blinking as his vision adjusted. 

He felt the rain water still dripping down his skin like candle wax or teardrops. He barely had to concentrate before it too was drifting into the air like cigarette smoke and the wispy clouds in the sky. It was as if the icy water was never there at all. He touched a strand of his hair and found it perfectly dry. 

Kreacher set a plate of fried eggs and floppy bacon before him and Harry frowned. “I didn’t ask for you to cook, Kreacher.”

“Eat.” The house elf grumbled before popping away. 

Harry frowned harder but picked up the fork. He did need to eat after all. It would be unnecessarily petty to throw the food away because Kreacher didn’t allow him the opportunity to cook for himself. 

He ate the food a little grudgingly, anyways. It tasted good. It was hot and greasy. Harry tried to convince himself that his own breakfast would have tasted better.

He cast a tempus and scowled at the reflected time. Kingsley would be there in roughly two hours to ruin Harry’s day further. 

He barely slept at all after his pathetic breakdown the day before. He kept remembering the way Hermione looked at him. She had been fighting back tears, her eyes wet and pained. She looked as if she was caught between the claws of grief for someone who still lived.    
  
Harry  _ was _ still there. He had been standing right in front of her. He had touched her. She shouldn’t have to look heartbroken while staring at her best friend. Hermione Granger had suffered enough heartbreak without Harry adding onto it needlessly. He had to be better. He had to  _ do _ better - if only he knew how. 

If only he could force himself to wake up in the morning and not want to be swallowed by the rain and an indistinct sky that reminded him too much of himself. Harry didn’t know the exact moment during the past year that he had broken and severed so completely. He didn’t know how to fit the pieces of himself back together again because he hadn't found any solvent strong enough. Not only that but Harry was not even sure he had all the pieces. He thought several chipped shards were still scattered within the Forbidden Forest and the Department of Mysteries or hidden within Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor. 

He swallowed, the taste of the food turning foul on his tongue. He threw the rest of it into the garbage and washed the dishes to spite Kreacher. He wouldn’t mind going back to bed or even returning outside to lay in the wet grass; but Kingsely would expect him to look like a respectable member of society by the time he arrived. 

He poured a glass of whiskey to get himself through the remainder of the morning and forced himself up the staircase. Harry took a shower and tried to think of nothing at all. He bathed himself and didn’t let his eyes snag and go blank every time he passed the soap over a scar. He washed his hair, marveling at how long it reached when it was wet, and didn’t once think about Sirius. He dressed in basic black robes and didn’t think about Snape’s pale skin swallowed by dark cloth. He brushed his hair to the best of his ability and didn’t once think about his father doing the same. 

Harry forced himself down the staircase and into the den. He sat at the plush sofa that he sobbed on the evening before and stared down at the glossy wooden floor that was now bare of glittering shards of glass.

He debated on pouring more firewhiskey when the floo flared. Of course, Kingsley would arrive early. He probably thought Harry was on the bathroom floor in a pool of his own vomit. Kingsley’s expectations for Post-War Harry’s capabilities were extremely low. 

Harry usually did what Kingsley wanted simply because Kingsley doubted that he could. Sometimes, Harry thought the majority of his actions were designed to spite everyone else around him.

Kingsley was adorned in expensive cream robes and polished shoes. He looked strong and poised, the epitome of the now ruler of their world. Harry wanted to scoff or roll his eyes as Kingsley looked him over blatantly before offering a nod of assent. As if Harry would ever care for Kingsley Shacklebolt’s approval. 

“How are you?” His voice was deep and cordial. Kingsley had always had a voice that commanded respect and to Harry’s dismay that hadn’t changed. 

Harry raised a brow. “Peachy.”

Kingsley frowned and glanced away from him. He seemed to survey the room, casting his dark gaze towards the entrance to the kitchen. Harry didn’t care if he was reminiscing about the old days of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry didn’t care if Kingsely was reflecting on if those days were somehow happier or far darker to remember, either. 

He cleared his throat loudly. “Are we going?”

Kingsley blinked, returning his eyes to Harry’s sprawled form on the sofa. Kingsley nodded curtly and held out an arm, as if he suspected Harry needed help standing. “Come along. We’re taking the floo to the Leaky Cauldron.”

Harry stood, brushing past his arm, and was the first to leave through the writhing green flames. Harry wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Kingsley hadn’t sent the letter informing Harry of today's schedule until late last night and Harry was not at all prepared for it to disrupt his plans of drinking himself into an early grave. 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to speak today. All Harry had to do was stand there and look pretty and hopeful and brave. 

Today marked the official reopening of Diagon Alley. Of course, it was never actually closed. The event was purely symbolic, as was most everything instated by the Ministry. There had been new reconstruction over the past month to buildings that were damaged during the war. The businesses that were shut down - or whose owners were no longer alive - were now opening their doors again and under new management. 

Kingsley trailed him as they made their way quickly through the confines of the Leaky Cauldron and past the few patrons with foaming mugs of butterbeer in hand. They reached the ever familiar brick wall and Kingsley stepped forward with his wand to tap out the familiar pattern. 

When Harry stepped through into the rapidly warming weather, he found a marked difference to distinguish Pre-War and Post-War Diagon Alley. There were red ribbons hanging from the eaves of windows and brightly painted door frames. Stark, colorful banners waved in the slight breeze and the smell of cider, roasting meat, and baking bread was heady. Squealing children were running through the streets in an attempt to dodge their hovering parents. There was laughter and loud chatter of the likes he hadn’t heard in many months. Harry tried to wrap the energy around his person, to infuse himself with their evident cheer and steal some of their lingering warmth. 

Kingsley rushed him past the meandering families and the glimmering store fronts until they reached one of Harry’s least favorite attractions. There was a small podium standing outside of the ugly and cluttered Daily Prophet. Kingsley deposited him at the front of the jumbled mass of wizards and witches who were waiting eagerly for their newly elected Minister to speak. They looked to Kingsley as if he were there to guide them into a new era and Harry supposed there was an ounce of truth to that. He watched almost detachedly as the masses smiled and murmured and waved. Harry’s cursed name whispered through the crowd like a mantra. 

Draco was not beside him today because the public was here. Kingsley could flaunt Draco and his invisible collar when they were occupying a room full of rich purebloods or Ministry underlings. But when their benevolent Minister stood before the average witch or wizard, Draco was shut away in his mansion to avoid the imminent curses and hateful spittle.

The hypocrisy made Harry feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t mind it so much today, though. Today was June 5th and Draco Malfoy’s 18th birthday. Harry knew Draco appreciated the unintentional gift of solace from those who would rather scorn him on his special day.

Harry felt a small smile twitch onto his lips. Draco and Pansy were most likely still in their pajamas and silk robes, feverishly planning Draco’s birthday outing tonight with their friends and debating on what they should eat for the prior dinner with his family. He had received Draco’s formal invitation by owl a few minutes before Kingsley’s schedule arrived last night. Harry had thrown Kingsley’s letter into the fire but he had replied to Draco’s and received a few more sheafs of parchment discussing his plans for the evening.

Harry had been curious as to why Draco hadn’t wanted to throw his big birthday bash last night so that they could celebrate as soon as the clock struck twelve - like muggles do on New Year’s Eve. 

He had of course forgotten the extent of Draco Malfoy’s dramatics. Draco had quickly informed Harry in his incessantly perfect handwriting that he was born at 7:46 in the evening and the festivities would not reach their peak a minute before. Draco had also added in a postscript that Pansy had known the exact time of Draco’s birth whereas Harry had not.

Harry loved his friend and yet wanted to smother him with one of his own feather pillows at the same time. He wondered if that was love in its truest form - loving someone in spite of all the traits that made you want to kill them in their sleep.

Harry felt a large hand clutch onto his shoulder from behind. He stifled his magic from lashing out almost instinctively. He turned stiffly, expecting any variant of dreaded communication or brown nosing. He relaxed when there was only George standing there with a familiar smirk. George slung his arm casually around Harry’s shoulder as he moved to stand to his left. 

Harry glanced at his untidy robes and messy, orange hair. George’s face was gaunt and so very pale. He had permanent shadows under his eyes now and a wan mouth that used to be so prone to smiling. 

George murmured softly, “You should come to the shop when Kingsley lets you loose.”

He raised a brow. “Should I?” 

George nodded with a more subdued version of his usual roguish grin. “I bought some new product.”

Harry laughed quietly. “I'll definitely have to stop by then.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Ron’s not with you?” 

George scoffed and the petulant frown that had now become the most common expression upon his thin face made yet another appearance. “He’s manning the shop. We argued last night and we’ve thought it better to steer clear of each other. I needed non-Weasley air and I couldn’t possibly miss The Kingsley Show.”

Harry inwardly winced at the knowledge that an upset Hermione had to go home to an even more upset Ron after she left through Harry’s floo yesterday. 

Ron had not wanted to return to Hogwarts ever since it became a plausible option. He had taken fairly quickly to the idea of helping George at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes since the war came to a close. The entire family seemed to support his decision.    
  
Harry suspected it had more to do with someone being there for George than anything else. Hermione was even miraculously convinced if that was what Ron truly wanted for his future. Harry recalled her speaking of their plans to reopen the shop with an air of hope - as if it truly could work some form of magic inaccessible to even wizards and make the two men happy again.    
  
Harry, on the other hand, knew from the very beginning that George would blow up at even the suggestion of it.    
  
George had argued - rather hypocritically - that Ron deserved to finish his education and had adamantly insisted that he did not require anyone’s help. Harry didn’t think the adversity had anything to do with Ron personally but everything to do with the fact that he simply wasn’t Fred.    
  
Harry wished he could make Ron understand that George would have reacted the same way whether it was Bill, or Charlie, or Percy, or even Ginny begging to stay and help. The joke shop - as with most things belonging to the twins - was distinctly theirs.

There had been discourse from all sides on the issue but George had finally relented when Molly crumpled into sobs. Harry did not know a bloke strong enough to keep from folding when confronted by an upset Molly Weasley.

But even though George had relented, it did not mean all animosity was gone. 

Harry winced in commiseration with his friend. “Well, you’re just in time. The show’s about to start.”

George rubbed his hands together eagerly and Harry couldn’t help but laugh. George removed his arm from around Harry’s shoulder and murmured, “Speak of the devil and he will appear.” The Minister’s stark form exited the double doors that lead into the Daily Prophet and moved until he stood in front of the assembled podium. He raised a hand as if in greeting to the crowd and their voices and clamor grew louder. 

Kingsley cleared his throat and it was evident he had cast a sonorous charm. The crowd fell into a heavy, still silence. Kingsley smiled genially and lowered his arm before speaking. 

“It warms my heart to see so many familiar faces here today.” He paused, casting his warm gaze over the crowd as if he would try to meet every pair of eyes present. “I not only see our community fighting to thrive and live and overcome, but I see you with smiles on your faces and hope in your hearts. I think that in itself is a testament to our strength and our perseverance. I think that it speaks to the promise of our future. We, of course, must never forget the trials and horrors we have faced. But we cannot choose to linger on the pain and memory of our all too recent wounds and forget to look forward to the days in which we shall heal.”

_ It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. _

Harry felt the thrumming of his magic inside of him, swirling and hissing along the lining of his stomach. He felt like screaming and raging at these wide-eyed people. He had the urge to wake them up. He wanted to shout at them and make them realize that nothing was ever going to be the same again. This was all a sham - a grand hoax. The truth was that there would always be an enemy waiting in the shadows to hit you where it hurt. There would always be loss and grief and betrayal and sadness. It didn’t take a fucking dark lord to steal your loved ones from you, or turn away from you, or ruin you. There was no healing because those so-called wounds were infected cuts that everyone couldn’t help but scratch at. It was never going to get better. The truth was that the war against Voldemort was over but peace was still a delusion. Peace was a fucking anomaly. It was an impossibility. It was something that had never existed. Everyone standing there was a fucking fool for ever thinking that peace was anything close to plausible. 

A voice that sounded far too much like Dumbledore’s ventured into his head.  _ A person does not have to be mentioned in a prophecy in order to save you, Harry. _

Harry dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He clenched down harder on the inferno inside him. George stiffened and glanced at his face. “You alright, mate?”

Harry wondered if George could feel his magic like Harry could. He wondered if it was just so much raw heat and that it could grow hot enough to evaporate. 

He dipped his head in a sharp nod. He couldn’t make himself look at George or force any other reply. He had barely heard anything else Kingsley had said - so embroiled in his own fury and the tight hold over his magic. Harry was glad he had missed the majority of Kingsley’s speech. He didn’t think he could endure much more before erupting. He focused on the movement of Kingsley’s lips. 

“We have our entire lives ahead of us. We have the opportunity to welcome and build a better world for the next generation of wizards and witches. We have the chance to acknowledge the shadows that lurk behind us and nurture the light that guides us forward.” He smiled again, wide and kind and warm. He oozed sincerity and hope. “Thank you.”

Harry sneered as the crowd cheered and cried out affirmations. He didn’t want to care about what Kingsley thought or what any of the rest of Wizarding Britain thought. He didn’t want to feel this turmoil and this rage and this need to inflict his pain on everyone else. But Harry couldn’t help but feel that this wasn’t fair. Why should he be the one stuck with fire wrapped around his heart and shackles around his feet and a black fog inside his mind while Kingsley took the rest of them by the hand and showed them how fucking simple it was to let go. As if it was as easy as counting to three or cracking open a window or casting a lumos. As if it was as easy as Harry Potter sitting in his empty, newly remodeled kitchen and vanishing the rain from his skin as if it was never there at all. 

George gripped his shoulder. “Harry. Are you okay?”

He looked down at his clenched fists. Harry watched as they shakily opened and he could see the bloody patches from his nails quickly heal - like a time lapse. Harry exhaled sharply between gritted teeth and nodded quickly, vanishing the blood from his palms. As if it was never there at all. “You can go. I’ll stop by later.”

George narrowed his eyes, clearly unsure. Harry finally turned to his bloodless face and glared. 

George frowned. “Make sure that you do.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder again before saying quietly, “Don’t do anything stupid, Harry.”

He smiled blandly. “Do I ever?”

George slowly grinned and tipped an imaginary hat before disappearing into the throng of people to escape. Harry wished that he could follow. 

He cleared his face of the all-out war of his thoughts and prepared himself for his own personal brand of hell.

He smiled politely as fathers stepped forward to clutch his hand. He stood stoically as the children gazed at him like he was a god. He was patient and gentle as he helped mothers up from where they were crying at his feet. 

He could barely react. He could barely remember how Pre-War Harry would have behaved in this situation. At least he was certain that both versions of himself would have abhorred it.

He smiled blankly and nodded politely and allowed them to touch him with their sweaty palms. All the while, he was smothering his writhing, sprawling magic that was pacing like a hungry lioness inside of him. 

Kingsley joined him quickly and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was not comforting or good or familiar - like it was with George. Not at all. 

Kingsley’s smile was blinding. He led the conversations as the people greeted them. Harry could feel himself shutting down and going into autopilot as he interacted with the many witches and wizards. He was introduced to more names than anyone could possibly remember and was regaled with more tales of tragedy and long-winded praises and job offers and blatant flirtations than he could endure. 

Kingsley finally squeezed his shoulder after about an hour and a half of time passed. “Should you be getting back, Harry?”

Harry tried not to openly betray his relief. He simply nodded and didn't look at Kingsley as he departed. He cast a wandless disillusionment charm and disapparated, not caring about the shocked murmurs of the crowd or Kingsley’s inevitable disapproval and future reprimand. 

He appeared in the alley that led into Knockturn and filtered back into the cluttered streets of Diagon. He observed the open shops, the jittery people, the colorful storefronts, and their advertised wares. He admired the towering figure of Gringotts and couldn’t help but soften at the wide-eyed children being led by the hand up the marble steps. He didn’t look at the owls sitting on their perches and fluffing their feathers outside of the Magical Menagerie or at the faded door to Ollivander’s. 

Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was hard to miss. It was the most obvious and in-your-face store Diagon Alley boasted. It was bustling. Harry slipped between overly excited children and their exasperated parents. He passed by teenage boys with amused smirks and teenage girls with bright blushes and enthused giggles. 

George had three people working the shop. Two men and one woman. The woman was behind the register and he didn't recognize her. She was a tall brunette with equally brown eyes and appeared older than Harry. The men walking around the store and assisting the surplus of customers were Gryffindors who graduated a year before Harry would have.

He noted the wide variety of products that were clutched in grubby hands and couldn’t help the resulting fondness and faint amusement at the twin’s genius and deserved success. He relished the tinge of warmth that thawed his clenched insides. 

He finally made his way through the busy shop and into the back rooms, undoing the charm that cloaked him. The offices took up a third of the space, the bathrooms another, and the workroom was the remainder of the back area. 

He found both George and Ron in George’s office. It was a Gryffindor’s wet dream with red being the default color of the decor and Quidditch posters lining the walls. George was sitting behind the tall mahogany desk, shuffling through a stack of parchment. Ron was slouched in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the polished desk with a disgruntled expression. Harry dropped into the second chair beside him and Ron straightened with a grin. “Finally, mate. I was starting to doubt you would actually show.”

Harry scoffed. “Trust me, I would have much rather been here.” 

George snickered. “I would have stayed but…”

Harry flipped him off and George blew him a kiss. 

Ron laughed quietly and nudged him. “Well, you’re here now and George has something that will make you forget all your troubles.” Harry didn’t believe such a thing existed but he was too pleased that the two weren’t fighting any longer to say so. 

George grinned. “Oh, Harry. Darling, darling Harry. You’ll be higher than fat Aunt Marge once you take a puff of this.”

Harry burst into surprised laughter at his remark and watched as George brandished a blunt with all the flair of a muggle magician. George had connections everywhere and would usually share whenever he came into possession of a new and improved form of inebriation.   
  
George and Harry had found more in common between themselves in the last month than in the past several years they had known each other. The Weasley family’s concern over Harry’s reliance on alcohol and his resulting mental state stretched to George more often than not. 

George was drinking too much. George was gone all the time. George wasn't being responsible. No one really had the heart to say anything too reprimanding or assertive when he wore the face of Fred Weasley but the disapproving looks they gave him were more than enough. Harry knew the feeling of disappointing someone you loved and being judged for something you didn’t feel you could control. The scale of pain was even worse when you were passing through the stages of grief at the same time. 

Ron wasn’t a fan of the excessive drinking either and he had made that abundantly clear to the both of them. Fortunately, Ron could never say no to getting high.    
  
Harry reached forward and plucked the blunt from George’s fingers with a teasing smile. He flicked his fingers and set the paper aflame. He brought it to his lips and inhaled greedily before slowly exhaling vapor that was thick and cloudy and bright, bubblegum pink. Harry raised a brow dubiously at the color before feeling his body loosen and his mind ease. A giddy laugh left him. He felt like a kid again. George snatched it back from him and Harry barely noticed. 

He leaned back in his chair, tipping his head back to stare up at the ceiling. He could hear Ron saying something and George snickering. Harry felt happy and warm and like he had just woken up from a long nap to learn that his dreams were not at all separate from his reality. The ceiling started to look more like the rainy sky from this morning and he laughed. He lifted his hand towards the sky and he could almost feel the air tighten and cool, the wet foam of clouds melting on his heated skin. 

Ron poked his arm with a blinding grin, his cheeks bunched up and his eyes bright. He laughed boisterously and poked Harry’s arm again. Harry grinned and dropped his arm down from the sky to poke at Ron’s cheek which made them both laugh delightedly. 

George was wheezing. “How are you feeling, Harrykins?”

Harry tilted his head to look at him. “I’m higher than fat Aunt Marge.”

Harry slowly grinned as they both dissolved into giggles amidst a bright, swirling fog of pink. It was like a grand sunset. It was like the air was made of cotton candy. It was like Ginny’s bedroom before fifth year.

It was like floating and knowing that you were never coming back down and Harry wanted to stay here - just like this - with George and Ron forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry floated for roughly an hour and a half before being yanked down from fuzzy pink clouds and reminded that life unfortunately was not a dream. George had one of the Gryffindors that worked for him bring them multiple orders of Fish and Chips and Toad in the Hole from the Leaky Cauldron. 

They devoured the food, barely leaving crumbs behind. Harry was sulking by the time Ron clapped his shoulder with a faint smile and George ruffled Harry’s hair fondly before they both disappeared into the hall. George was undoubtedly going to immerse himself in his workroom while Ron went to help out in the front. 

Harry sighed and cleaned up after them, putting all of the containers into the trash bin and casting a charm on the desk to remove the crumbs and stains. He turned the light off and closed the door to the office, wishing he could stay just a little longer, before walking into the store that was perhaps a little less crowded now. Ron was too busy talking to a customer to notice him leaving but one of the Gryffindors spotted him and nodded his head in greeting. Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement before weaving his way to the exit. He was feeling the perfect mixture of floaty and forlorn and didn’t much care about the customers whispering and pointing as he left through the wide double doors. It was past noon and the sun was still high in the sky, only a few wispy clouds warping the brightness. 

He slipped into the light traffic of people and made his way toward the Leaky Cauldron. He was thinking of buying himself a drink before heading back to Grimmauld. He didn’t know if it was the lingering effects of the drug’s influence but he felt in the mood for conversation for the first time in a long time. 

He smirked as he saw a young boy being dragged into Madam Malkin’s by the ear. He determinedly walked past Eeylops Owl Emporium and ignored the excited squeals and pleas of children. He ignored the stretch of wing he could see out of the corner of his eye and the sound of soft cooing. 

He stopped outside of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Harry stood next to two boys who resembled brothers in front of the display window showcasing the Firebolt. They looked to be third or fourth years and he glanced at them with a smile. “Hoping to get one?”

The boys did not even glance up and Harry smiled wider. The taller boy said, “I would give anything.”

The shorter sighed. “I’d give anything just to fly on one - just once.”

Harry wondered if he should be happy or sad that Hogwarts students’ greatest desires had now returned to Quidditch. He hated that he had to feel conflicted on everything he felt. He hated that he could barely remember what it was like to stand in this exact spot as a boy and admire the latest broom model. He hated that every time he saw a Firebolt he remembered his own falling down into the night just like Sirius fell into the Veil. He hated that when he saw a Firebolt, he was reminded of losing his own and losing Hedwig and seeing George bleed and Fred’s pale face and Moody’s death.

He swallowed and forced himself to say, “I hope you both get the chance one day.” He turned without waiting for a reply.

He walked quickly towards the Leaky, shaking his head at his inner turmoil, when he paused. There was a tall figure swathed in black walking out of Potage’s Cauldron Shop. Harry’s eyes traced him curiously. Harry shifted his feet unsurely before walking forward a few steps. He let himself bump into Severus Snape as he stuffed his shrunken purchases into his robe pockets. 

Snape stiffened before looking up with a familiar scowl. He stiffened even further at seeing who was standing in front of him. His face turned cold and he walked past Harry without acknowledging him further. 

Harry fought not to gawk or laugh or smile. He was not sure which reaction he was fighting off more as he quickly caught up to Snape’s long strides in the other direction. Harry’s drink could wait when Snape proved to be so much more entertaining. 

Harry smirked as he walked at Snape’s side, his eyes scanning the side of his face and his tall figure. He was wearing his infamous black robes and dark dragonhide boots. His black hair was greasy again and shielding his face from view, his bangs hanging into his even darker eyes. His white hands were clenched into fists as Harry found they usually were - at least in Harry’s presence. He wondered if it was a tell but then thought it was a little obvious for a former spy.

“Fancy seeing you here, Professor.”

Snape seemed to quicken his steps before saying tersely, “Potter.” 

“The one and only.” He grinned. “Buying potions supplies, are you?”

He scowled. “It’s none of your concern what I am doing, you chafing reprobate.” 

Harry’s lips twitched in an attempt not to laugh. “You have such a toxic personality, Snape. You should really learn how to hold a conversation. You act as if every word out of my mouth could be an attack on your person.”

He finally looked at him with narrowed eyes. “ _ Professor _ Snape.” 

Harry sighed. “Must I really refer to you as such?”   


“You will refer to me as such or you will not speak to me at all.” Snape made a low, scornful sound. “Is that not your aim, Potter? To attack me on every occasion?”   


Harry blinked at the question. “Of course not. I don’t wish you harm, sir. I just like baiting you and making your blood pressure rise. Don’t I make you feel alive, Professor?”

“You make me wish I wasn’t.” The response was said all too quickly.

Harry placed a hand to his chest with an overdone wince. “Oh, that one hurt, Professor.” Harry sobered slightly and looked away from him. He asked quietly after a moment, “Do you mean that, though?”

Snape looked at him sharply. “Do I mean what?” 

They had to separate slightly to let a gaggle of teenagers pass. One of the boys tripped as he caught a glimpse of Harry’s face. 

Harry quickly returned to Snape’s side before the man could disappear. “Do you wish I had not saved you from Nagini’s attack? Do you wish I had not found you in time? Do you wish I would have simply taken your memories and watched you die? Without doing anything? Without even trying?”

Harry remembered the fright and the horror and the blood. He remembered the way Snape’s face had changed when he saw Harry kneeling before him as he lay dying.

Snape paused in the middle of the street. Harry halted beside him and turned to look upon his face. Snape's eyes were hard and shadowed. His black hair and eyes against the pale backdrop of his skin - it was like night and day made into a solid vessel. 

“What of you, Potter? Do you wish you had remained dead after the Dark Lord killed you?” He appeared all too knowing and Harry vaguely remembered all of the stupid and terribly personal confessions he made on the night of the Minister’s party. 

Harry swallowed. “Of course I do,” he uttered quietly. “I'm glad I didn’t, though. I killed Voldemort and ended it all. When has my happiness or my desires ever outweighed the rest of the Wizarding World’s, Snape?” His voice was as bitter and cold as a winter storm. 

Snape continued to stare at him for a long moment - just like he did the night of the Minister’s party. Harry bared his heart to him then, too. Snape cleared his throat before looking away and striding forward. Harry continued to follow him. 

Snape sighed quietly. “I did come for potion ingredients.”

Harry glanced at him with a smirk. “How utterly predictable.” Snape cast him a scathing look and Harry laughed.

Snape swallowed and looked away. “I presume you will also be attending Draco’s birthday dinner this evening.”

Harry snickered. “You presume right, sir. I should have known he would invite you. He adores you for some unfathomable reason.”

Snape glared. Harry smiled faintly before asking, “Did you buy him a gift?”

He dipped his head with a nod, his hair falling into his eyes again.

Harry nudged him with his arm. “Not going to tell me what it is?”

Snape huffed. “I’m sure you will see for yourself.”

Harry hummed in acknowledgment. “You’re both horridly dull and predictable so I suspect something to do with potions or books or both.”

Snape scowled. “We cannot all be imbecilic Gryffindors whose only pleasure is derived from eating candies that make us vomit. Draco is my godson. This will not be my first time attending his birthday nor buying him gifts.”

Harry blinked at that. He hadn’t thought of Draco planning his birthday during the years they weren’t friends. He also hadn’t thought of Snape attending every year or knowing Draco far better than Harry did now. “It’s strange,” he mused, “to think of you as Draco’s godfather. I always looked at you with such scorn and Draco looks at you the same way I looked at Sirius. It’s strange, isn’t it? Perception. Love.”

Snape was silent for a moment. “It is strange thinking that I have a similar type of bond or affection as Black shared with you. I never wanted to share anything in common with the likes of him.”

Harry remembered threatening Snape to keep Sirius’ name out of his mouth after insulting him at the Minister’s party. Harry frowned and clamped harder around the magic inside of him.

“I imagine Sirius would feel much the same way.” Harry’s voice sounded bitter even to his own ears.

Snape frowned. “Indeed.”

Harry rolled his shoulders in an attempt to move on from sore subjects. “Have you always been in Draco’s life?”

Snape paused outside Slug and Jiggers. “I’ve looked out for him since he was a child. He is the closest thing to a son I will ever have and I’ve always treated him as such.”

Harry tilted his head. “You’ve always looked out for me, as well. Yet we have had the very opposite sort of relationship, Snape. Why is that?” 

Snape scowled. “I did what I had to do to protect you. That doesn’t mean that I held any fondness for you whatsoever or that I did it out of the goodness of my heart.”

Harry smirked. “Obviously not. You were horridly cruel to me, Snape.” 

He glared. “I’m sorry that not everyone can worship the ground you walk on, Potter.” He said it so scornfully; Harry’s last name again left his lips like it was a curse. That was really all it boiled down to, wasn’t it? Harry’s last name.

“Does it ever get tiring? Reciting the same lines over and over again? Do you not grow bored, Snape?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed and bled almost black. His lips pinched white and his hand jolted toward his wand at his hip and then towards Harry’s robe before falling back down to his side. 

Harry marveled at him. “Were you thinking of assaulting me in the middle of Diagon Alley, sir?” He laughed incredulously. “You must really have a death wish. Whether you planned to hex me or kiss me again, a little more discretion would be advised. A mob would quickly rise in my defense in either case.”

Snape flushed angrily. “I plan to never touch you again.”

Harry smirked wickedly at that. “Are you so sure? You always say this and yet you’ve initiated on both occasions. Do try not to contradict yourself so much, sir.” 

Snape’s lips were pressed tightly together. His cheeks were flushed red and his eyes were as dark as the space between stars. Harry took a step closer to him and Snape’s eyes widened. Snape opened his mouth as if to say something and then he shook his head with an aggrieved sound. He suddenly disapparated with a sharp crack wrenching the air. 

Harry gaped, staring at the now empty space where he was just standing. Harry tipped his head up to the sky in his hilarity. Severus Snape made it far too easy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry Potter bought drinks for everyone in the Leaky and several for himself before retiring to Grimmauld. He had been tempted to go home with a group of friends who approached him but he was adamant on not missing Draco’s birthday. As soon as he exited the floo, Kreacher was there grumbling about this or that and Harry couldn’t care less about what he was saying. He grinned and reached down with his index finger and booped his hulking nose. “Hi, Kreacher.”

The old house elf slapped his hand away and spluttered something uncomplimentary before vanishing. Harry giggled as he stumbled up the stairs and fell into his bed. He heard a distinctive pop and turned his head to the side to see Kreacher standing there. He rested his head on his palm. “Do you ever feel lonely, Kreacher?”

Kreacher pushed a gigantic jug of water into his hands. Harry fumbled to grasp it before it spilled. Kreacher pushed on his arms further. “Harry Potter will drink all of this.”

Harry frowned. “Harry Potter will not.” He pushed the jug towards Kreacher and some of it spilled onto his bald head. Harry laughed delightedly.

Kreacher looked angry and resigned all at once. “Harry Potter will drink this and Kreacher will answer Harry Potter’s stupid question.”

Harry paused and tilted his head to the side, considering. He hummed, the sound long and drawn out. He swore he could see Kreacher’s eye twitch. “Fine, but your response had better be long-winded.” He gripped the jug tighter, sitting up against the headboard and tipped the lip of the cool jug against his lips. He drank the water down as best he could before setting the empty jug aside on the bedside table. Kreacher waved a hand and vanished the jug. Harry sighed. “Well, now I have to piss, Kreacher. Hurry up.” 

Kreacher made some kind of croaky, huffing noise. He shifted on his tiny, bent legs and peered down at his tiny, crooked toes. “Kreacher does not like having an empty house. Kreacher misses Master Regulus.”

Harry looked at the sad state of him for a moment. “I told you I could set you up somewhere else, Kreacher. Malfoy Manor has a horde of purebloods all the time. I’m sure you would love it there.” 

Kreacher made another ungodly sound. “Kreacher will not abandon his home. Kreacher will not abandon Harry Potter.”

Harry tensed against the headboard, his eyes growing wet.    
  
How sad did his life have to be for this miserable old house elf to bring him to tears? Harry laid down on the mattress and gripped his pillow tightly to his chest. He swallowed and closed his eyes. He whispered, his voice cracking horridly on the words. “I’m lonely, too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kreacher woke him up an hour before Draco’s birthday dinner. Harry showered again because he felt disgusting and his face was all puffy and his hair was tangled and matted to one side. He dressed in bottle green dress robes, realizing he was going to be the only lion among a group of Slytherins. He thought about asking Kreacher to come along but he had disappeared somewhere and wouldn’t come when called. Harry supposed that was answer enough. 

He took the floo to Malfoy Manor and stepped out into the familiar parlor. A house elf popped into the room and stammered through her greeting with wide eyes as she led Harry Potter into the larger parlor that was next door to the dining room. 

Narcissa and Draco had made it almost impossible to reconcile this home with the Manor Voldemort had inhabited and made his own some months before. There had been much redecorating and rearranging. Though it was still ostentatious and over-the-top, it didn’t look like the same house and that was all Harry could ask for. He didn’t know if he would have ever stepped foot here otherwise. 

It seemed Harry was the last to arrive. He didn’t think Draco would think too badly of him. Harry had a habit of being late to most events he was invited to. The parlor had grey, shimmering walls with white siding and icy, blue drapes that framed the windows. The furniture was an array of chairs and loveseats done in blues, blacks, and greys. The colors flattered the two Malfoys present almost unfairly. 

Draco and Pansy were seated together on the loveseat that was upholstered in blue, crushed velvet. Draco was wearing black dress robes with green silk accents. The outfit looked more expensive than anything Harry had ever worn. Pansy was donned in lavender dress robes with revealing sits down her arms and ribs. Harry had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying something scathing. Blaise was in the black armchair next to them and looked nauseatingly handsome in blue and silver robes.    
  
Blaise spotted him first. He grinned and drawled, “Finally.”

Draco stopped mid sentence during his murmured conversation with Pansy. He sat forward at the sight of him and raked his eyes down Harry’s figure before nodding in approval. Harry had to fight not to scoff at how Draco behaved just as arrogantly as Kingsley. “Good, you’re here. Say hello to Mother.”

Narcissa was in ivory and blue robes that billowed around her slight form. She was sitting at the vintage table in front of the windows and the dim sunlight made her styled hair seem almost gold. Snape was sitting rigidly across from her and was still swallowed by heavy, dark fabric. 

Harry smiled faintly. “Of course.” He walked over to Narcissa who peered up at him with a familiar smile. He pressed a kiss to her outstretched hand. “You look lovely.” 

Narcissa appeared as if she had enough energy to put effort into her immaculate appearance today. She was beautiful and looked just as much a part of the decor as her son. The only hint that betrayed her illness were the dark circles under her eyes and the few emerging wrinkles. 

Narcissa smiled wider. “Thank you, Harry. I feel lovely.”

He clasped her hand gently. “I’m glad.”

She nodded. “You look very handsome, dear.” 

He grinned fiendishly. Draco snapped in a teasing tone, “Watch it, Potter.”

Harry snickered. “Thank you, Narcissa. I thought I should wear green so as not to offend your Slytherin sensibilities.”

Narcissa laughed softly and Harry could hear the others complaining behind him.

She waved him off with a fond smile. “Join your friends, please.” Harry wanted to object and say that he would rather die than claim Pansy as his friend. He just bowed his head with a teasing smile. He glanced at Snape who was looking down at the drink in his hand. 

“Professor Snape. How are you?”

Draco groaned. “Leave him be, Harry. Come over here. I won’t have any of your pettiness on my birthday.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy had no room to call out anyone else’s pettiness. Snape just offered him a nod before looking back down at the crystal glass he was clutching. Harry’s lips twitched and he turned to stroll over to the others. 

“Happy birthday, Malfoy.”

He preened. “I do hope you brought me a present.”

Harry spread his arms wide. “You're looking at it.” He grinned winningly.

Blaise tipped his head back with laughter. “Oh, please unwrap it! Draco, you must!”

Draco snickered. Pansy’s expression was split between disgusted and unamused but that was her default expression.

Harry let his arms fall to his sides. “I’m joking. Of course, I bought you a gift.” 

Draco smiled. “Very good.” 

“Though it does please me to know how much Blaise would enjoy it if I were actually the gift.”

Blaise laughed again and Pansy gagged. Draco stood with an exaggerated sigh. “Come, let’s get drinks.” 

Harry slung his arm around Draco’s shoulders as he approached him. “There’s an idea.”

Narcissa proclaimed sharply, “Wait! I must take a photograph of the two of you.” 

Draco groaned. Harry glanced at him in question. He sighed. “Mother bought a wizarding camera and she insisted on taking photographs of all of us tonight. I can’t bring myself to stop her. She’s so excited.” 

Harry hummed in acknowledgement. “Well, that’s adorable.” 

Draco elbowed Harry in the ribs. “Shut up; and stop looking at my mother.”

Harry snickered. “Don't worry, Draco. You’re the only Malfoy I have an obsession with, I promise.” 

Draco preened. “I had better be.” 

Harry shook his head in exasperation. “You know, you shouldn’t have any problem with your mother taking photos with the size of your ego.”

Draco pinched the arm that was draped around him with a scowl. Pansy’s haughty voice snapped, “As if you can talk, Potter. You have the biggest head out of all of us.”

Harry swiveled his head to face her. “Excuse me, was anyone talking to you? I would make a rather funny joke but there’s a lady present so I will subsist.”

Narcissa stood in front of them, fidgeting with her camera. “Oh, children don’t fight.”

Blaise drawled from his armchair. “Subsist. A big word, Potter.”

Harry smirked. “You taught it to me, love.”

Blaise rolled his eyes with a grin. 

Narcissa straightened with the camera lens pointing at them. “Alright, look here and smile, darlings.”

He could feel Draco affixing his posture and shifting his bony shoulders under Harry’s forearm. Harry looked forward and grinned and tried not to blink under the bright flash of light. Narcissa smiled as she examined the captured image. “It’s lovely. You both look so handsome.”

Draco smirked. “Well, we are.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Let’s go get drinks, Malfoy. You can talk about yourself some other time.”

Draco scoffed as Harry steered him out of the room. “I said ‘we’, didn’t I? I could have said only I was handsome.”

“And that would have been a lie, wouldn't it?”

Draco pushed Harry’s arm off his shoulders, straightening his robes. “Now who is the arrogant one, Potter?”

Harry sighed as Draco pushed the door to Lucius’ office open. “Yes, we’re both terrible people. I don’t care.”

Draco laughed and rummaged through the clinking bottles of liquor on Lucius’ side table. Harry closed the door behind them. There was of course an array of drinks they could have found elsewhere in Malfoy Manor or even simply asked one of the house elves to bring them a glass of whatever they desired. But Draco had become enamored with the idea of intruding upon his father’s old space and drinking all of his expensive firewhiskey - something Lucius had always expressly forbidden. 

After Draco and Harry had decided to become friends, the first place he had brought Harry to was his father’s office. At the time, Harry was barely functional and almost wanted to go to Malfoy Manor - just to see it again and be reminded of the pain that was inflicted there and at least feel  _ something.  _ But Malfoy Manor had been unrecognizable to him. It made sense that Naricissa and Draco would be adamant to make their home liveable again since it was all they had left. The Malfoys had more to remember in this house - both good and terrible - than anyone else. 

Draco and Harry had gotten wildly drunk in Lucius Malfoy’s office that night. There was laughing, sobbing, shouting, and then a whirlwind of magic that had trashed the walls and scattered the books and cracked the heavy desk. Draco had repaired everything in the morning.

Draco handed him a glass half full of the amber liquid. He took it with a smile and downed a sip with a hum of appreciation. It was true that people with money had good taste at least. 

Draco leaned against his father’s desk. “How was this morning with Kingsley? I received my letter last night that I was free to do whatever I pleased. His generosity is astounding.”

Harry breathed a bitter laugh. “Yeah. It was sort of excruciating, actually. It was almost like the war had never happened there. People have moved on or are ready to move on, anyways.”

Draco raised the crystal glass to his pale lips. “And you’re not?”

Harry raised a dark brow. “Are you?”

He swallowed. “I’m more than ready. I just can’t seem to get there.”

Harry slowly shook his head. “I think I’m the opposite. I don’t want to be reminded of it but I don't want to forget about it, either. I don’t want to move on because there’s nowhere else to go to from here. I’m stuck, Draco, but only because I want to be.”

Draco refilled both of their glasses before walking towards him. He cupped his hand around the nape of Harry’s neck and pressed their foreheads together gently. He didn’t say that they would both eventually get there or that what he was feeling was okay. Harry appreciated that more than anything. He didn’t want reassurances or empty platitudes. He just wanted someone to listen to him and understand. 

Draco released him and stepped towards the door. “Come along, Potter. Dinner will be ready soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dining table was adorned with the finest meal Harry had seen in quite some time. It was almost Hogwarts worthy. There were flanks of lamb, buttered green beans, garlic mashed potatoes, bacon-wrapped tenderloin, and an array of fluffy casseroles. 

The table was seated for six. Draco was seated at the head of the table and Narcissa at the end. Pansy and Blaise both called the knowing-Draco-longer privilege and demanded to sit to his respective right and left at the table. 

Harry shrugged with a mischievous look directed Draco’s way as he sat down beside Blaise and closest to Narcissa. “That suits me fine.” He smiled sweetly at his mother and she patted his hand fondly. 

Draco glared and mouthed, ‘I will hex you’. 

Harry laughed giddily but paused when he saw that the only remaining seat was the one directly across from him. Snape pulled out the tall, wooden chair and sat down beside Pansy. He sent Harry a wary look as if he actually thought Harry would try something with Narcissa Malfoy sitting so close - not to mention her son. Draco would probably try to kill him if he knew all the ways in which Harry had defiled his godfather so far. 

Harry couldn’t deny he was a little tempted to do  _ something _ , though. Nothing overt - just something that was enough to fuck with Snape. Harry took a sip of his drink and smiled innocently. Snape narrowed his eyes. Harry grinned with a subtle wink and Snape’s jaw clenched. 

Harry turned and watched as everyone dished the heavenly smelling food onto their fancy china plates. Draco and Blaise began a conversation about Quidditch and Harry quickly added his own commentary. Pansy rolled her eyes and immediately changed the subject to clothing of all the bloody things. Harry inwardly groaned as every person at the fucking table besides Snape happily discussed fashion designers and their new line of robes. Harry focused back on his food and cut into his lamb. He flicked his eyes toward Snape who was also eating his food and looking resigned to their fate. Harry smirked.

Harry slid his right shoe along the floor until it brushed up against Snape’s boot and then his covered ankle. He could see the moment when Snape realized what he was doing. His dark eyes immediately went to Harry as he kicked Harry’s leather sole off of him and glared. Harry stared blankly back as he moved his other shoe forward and propped it up between Snape’s legs. Snape’s eyes blew wide at his audacity. Harry pressed his shoe firmly against his crotch. Snape looked livid and Harry had to fight not to laugh. Snape wrapped his cold hand around Harry’s ankle and pushed it off of his lap. Harry let his leg drop soundlessly to the floor and looked away from him, continuing to eat. He could feel Snape still watching him but Harry didn’t so much as glance in his direction. 

“Don’t you think so, Harry?”

Harry blinked, swallowing the rest of his pork down. “What do I think?”

Blaise smiled. “I knew you weren’t listening.” He leaned forward, batting his long lashes. “Don’t you think my coloring is better suited to lighter shades of fabrics?”

Harry tilted his head. “I wouldn’t know, love. I think you look dashing in everything you wear.”

Pansy sneered. “Oh, spare me.” Harry wanted to give her the finger so badly but the best way to annoy Parkinson was by ignoring her. 

Blaise smirked. “Dashing? But just the other day you told me I was beautiful. I liked that compliment much better.”

“Yes, well, I’m trying to be more respectful. Your boyfriend hates me enough as it is.”

Pansy sniped. “You make it horrifically easy to hate you, Potter. I thought that was your goal. My mistake.”

Harry turned to her with a bland smile. “Were we talking to you, Parkinson?”

Draco tsked. “Enough. You two can argue some other time. Professor Snape, I was brewing Shrinking potion the other day and I had some questions.”

Snape asked him various follow-up questions about the methods he used while brewing before informing him of several tips on technique and ingredient preparation. Pansy went back to eating after sending Harry another scathing look. Harry wanted to smash her stupid face into her mashed potatoes. 

Blaise regained Harry’s attention with a humored smile and regaled him with more tales of his travels over the summer. Harry listened closely and felt only a little envious at the locations he was describing and the people he had met. It sounded worlds better than dull and dreary England. 

Professor Snape and Narcissa engaged both Blaise and Pansy in conversations regarding their futures. Pansy affirmed that she would be re-attending Hogwarts and wanted to pursue a career in journalism for one of Wizarding Britain’s many publications. Harry thought a job at the Daily Prophet would suit her and her big mouth just fine. He blinked in surprise when Blaise said he wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts. Harry swiveled to look at him. 

Blaise tilted his head. “Surprised?”

“Yes. I expected you would go back as well. I thought you wanted to be a curse breaker. You would be brilliant at it.”

Blaise smiled softly, looking down at his hands. “I finished most of my schooling at Hogwarts, unlike some of you. I took my NEWTs with the Ministry a week ago. I passed with flying colors.”

Harry gaped before laughing incredulously. “That’s brilliant. Congratulations.”

Blaise grinned. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry looked at Draco. “Why are we not doing that?”

Pansy purred, “Because you would fail, Potter.”

Harry ignored her. Draco scoffed. “Because Kingsley wants us to go to Hogwarts and because  _ I _ want to go.”

Harry raised his brows. “You actually  _ want _ to go?”

Draco knitted his brows together in confusion. “Yes, Potter. I thought you knew this.”

He frowned. “Yeah, but I thought you were just trying to see the good in a bad situation. I didn’t think you were actually looking forward to it.” 

Pansy simpered. “That shows how much you know, doesn’t it?”

He turned to her with a scarily blank face. “You know, Parkinson, perhaps I’ll call up the Daily Prophet and offer them an interview... if only they blacklist your name. That sounds like great fun, doesn’t it?”

Pansy’s face fused red and her knuckles were white around her fork. 

Draco waved a hand. “Enough. I thought I would have to worry about Professor Snape and Harry rather than you two. This is getting ridiculous.”

“I’ve been perfectly behaved.” Snape’s deep voice drawled.

Harry burst into loud, surprised laughter and everyone looked at him. Harry was still giggling as he spotted a small smile on Severus Snape’s face. 

Narcissa tittered quietly beside them before standing. “I think it is due time for the cake.”

Pipsy vanished the empty dishes and the rest of the food away and a magnificent chiffon cake appeared. Narcissa commanded everyone to look and smile as she snapped another picture. Draco beamed as they all were given fat slices of the white cake. He was still beaming when they finally passed around their gifts to him. 

Draco opened his mother’s first. It was a book of photos. Photos of their ancestors, photos of both Lucius and Narcissa as students and then during their marriage, and then Draco and his friends as they had grown up together. Harry could tell Draco was fighting not to start sobbing in front of everyone. 

Draco leafed through Harry’s small photo book that Hagrid had gifted to him quite frequently. Draco was able to see the few moments of Harry’s life when he had people that loved him and looked like him and Harry knew that Draco felt the gravity of keeping those memories sacred. Harry had mentioned it to Narcissa and she had loved the idea. 

Draco swallowed and said in a quiet voice. “Thank you, Mother.”

Narcissa looked like she might cry as well. 

Draco opened Professor Snape’s gift next. Harry had been correct. It was a set of first-edition potion volumes with signatures from their authors. There was a stack of parchment stapled together that resembled a manuscript along with the books. Draco handled it almost reverently and looked at Professor Snape with wide eyes. “Thank you, sir. It’s a lovely gift.” Snape nodded in acknowledgment.

Next, Draco opened Pansy’s present. It was clothing - big fucking surprise. Unfortunately, Draco seemed ecstatic over the purchases she had selected. Pansy was preening as Draco fawned over the two sets of robes and the scarf she’d included. Pansy sent Harry an all too superior look and he wanted to gouge out her eyes. 

Blaise’s gift was next. It was a necklace consisting of a gold chain with a crystal dragon filament as the charm dangling from it. It was stunning just to look at but Blaise said the dragon could actually come alive and breathe fire should Draco tell it to. Draco and Harry were both gaping in incredulity. 

Harry exclaimed, “Badass! I want one. Where did you get it?”

Blaise chuffed him under the chin. “Don’t worry. I already have one in the making for you.”

Harry slowly grinned. “It’s like you want me to fall in love with you.”

Blaise just laughed and shook his head.

Lastly, of course, was Harry’s gift. Draco looked around him. “Don’t tell me the present was actually yourself, Potter.”

Harry smirked. “If only you were that lucky.” He snapped his fingers and the gift appeared in front of him. 

Draco looked as if he were about to complain or call Harry dramatic most likely but he paused. His lips parted and he looked at Harry in awe. “Oh, you didn’t.”

Harry grinned. “I did.”

Draco ripped the paper off and shouted with glee, twirling around with the broom clutched to his chest. Harry smirked at Parkinson and she glared. 

Draco looked at Harry with the brightest smile he had seen from him in a while. He was happy and radiant and ethereal and Harry loved him so much in that moment that it hurt. Harry smiled softly. He looked at the gleaming Firebolt in Draco’s hands and for once saw nothing but the wood it was made of and felt nothing but the hope it could represent. “Everyone should get to fly one at least once.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Narcissa grew tired quickly after that and said her goodbyes to everyone. She kissed Draco’s temple with a softly whispered, “Happy Birthday, Dragon.”

Draco smiled softly. “Goodnight, Mother.”

Once Narcissa disappeared down the hall, it was unspokenly agreed that they would descend into the hellions they were. They quickly retired to the parlor where they began the evening and surprisingly Snape made no excuses to leave. Draco hugged them all for the incredible gifts but Snape waved him off when Draco approached him and squeezed his shoulder instead. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at how typically Snape that was.

Draco snuck back into Lucius’ office and brought back an entire bottle of firewhiskey that they shared amongst themselves. They began to reminisce on their Hogwarts days and all the embarrassing blunders and pranks over the duration of their schooling. Snape even shared a ridiculously funny story of how he caught a group of third year Hufflepuffs out after curfew who quickly descended into sobs as soon as he found them. 

Draco finally admitted to Snape that there would be an actual party starting at seven. Snape took another sip from his glass. “I am not surprised in the least.”

That led to them discussing the details of the party which would be held at a wizarding club in London. It was going to be closed to the public for the night due to a favor the owner owed Pansy - of all people. Harry suspected it had more to do with blackmail than a favor. The only thing bigger than Pansy’s mouth was her nose.

Pansy sent him another one of those superior looks - as if Harry could never compare to her.

“I could just as easily have shut down a club for Draco’s birthday - with just the power of my name. I wouldn’t have had to threaten anyone.”

Blaise snickered. “Pansy didn’t threaten anyone. She’s fucking the owner.”

Pansy sent Blaise a glare and he raised his hands into the air innocently.

Harry gagged. “Perhaps, the bloke really was threatened then.”

Harry could see Snape watching their antics with a bland expression but Harry thought he could see just a hint of amusement around the curl of his lip. 

Pansy sneered. “That sounds like jealousy to me, Potter.” 

Harry guffawed. “Oh, please don’t make me vomit!” Harry smirked slowly and flicked his eyes to meet Snape’s. “I think I would rather fuck Snape.”

Blaise erupted into loud hysterics while Draco choked on his drink with a scandalised expression. Draco’s face was bright red as he cleared his throat. “Sir, he didn’t mean that. He’s dreadful! Please disregard everything he says-”

Snape waved him off and didn't once look away from Harry. “It’s a good thing I would never take you up on that, Potter.” Harry could see it now - the amusement evident in the way he framed the words and how his dark eyes gleamed. 

Harry leered. “No? Are you so sure?”

Snape took a sip of his drink without looking away. “I would rather fuck Umbrige.”

They all descended into incredulous laughter. Harry was leaning against Blaise with the force of his hilarity. He could see tear tracks running down Blaise’s face and that only made him laugh harder. Draco and Pansy were both flushed and screaming with laughter. Snape chuckled lowly and shook his head at the lot of them. 

By the time they recovered, Harry was about to piss himself. He pushed himself up from Blaise’s lap gently and stood. He stretched - still grinning delightedly. “I’m going to take a piss.”

Pansy squawked. “Gross, Potter! No one wants to know about your cock.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I think the lady doth protest too much.”

Draco snickered. Pansy made a retching noise followed by, “I thought you said I wasn’t a lady, Potter.”

He groaned. “Stop talking.”

She blabbed some more nonsense but he was already out of the room. 

Once he was finished washing his hands, he made his way back down the hall towards the parlor again. He paused when he heard Snape’s voice. Draco and Snape were standing in the open doorway to the parlor. Harry hid himself in the shadows of another room along the hall. 

“Thank you for the gift again, Professor. I look forward to reading it.”

Snape patted his shoulder. “I hope you gain something from it. I would like to hear your thoughts on the subject matter some time. I’m glad you have enjoyed your birthday.”

Draco nodded with a smile. “I really have. It’s the best one yet. I feel guilty saying that because Father isn’t here but...it really has been a perfect day and I haven’t been able to say that in such a long time.”

Snape’s eyes seemed to soften. Harry marveled at the foreign expression on Snape’s face. “Don’t feel guilty, especially where your father is concerned. I hope the day continues to be perfect, and by saying that, I mean that I hope you will not be too careless at this party of yours tonight.”

Draco laughed sheepishly. “Yes, sir. I’ll be careful, I assure you.”

Snape nodded. “Good. I’ll be going, then. Happy Birthday, Draco.”

“Thank you for coming, sir. Good night.”

“Goodnight.” He placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder again before turning and walking down the hall, his robes billowing around him like his own personal shadow. Draco disappeared back into the room and the loud clamor of their conversation started up again. 

As Snape passed Harry’s doorway, Harry stepped into view and made the other man jolt. 

He grinned wolfishly. “Did I scare you?”

Snape scowled and brushed past him. Harry trailed after him down the hall. ”Leaving so soon?”

“I don’t deem it appropriate to join my students in getting any further intoxicated than they already are.”

Harry hummed in thought. “I didn’t think you really paid attention to boundaries between students and professors, sir.”

Harry followed Snape’s silent, tense figure into the parlor that housed the floo. As soon as they were inside the room, he turned sharply and said, “You accuse me of being the one to initiate the debauchedness between us and yet you yourself cannot help but to bring it into conversation whenever you have the opportunity. Why is that, Potter?”

Harry shrugged. “I've already told you, Professor. I’m a tease. I live for the furrow between your brow and the angry flush of your skin. It makes my day.”

He clenched his jaw. “What are you doing, Potter? Are you that miserable that you would make a game of tormenting me?”

Harry arched a brow. “Isn’t that what we’ve always done - torment each other?” Harry crept forward until they were dangerously close.

Snape swallowed. His dark eyes traced over the features of Harry’s face, lingering down the planes of his body.

Harry saw his fists white knuckled at his sides. He wrapped his hand around one of Snape’s bony wrists, bringing it up to his face to examine. He traced his thumb along the pale, fragile skin there. He marveled at how white Snape’s skin looked compared to his own. 

“Your hands are always in fists when I see you, Snape. Why is that?”

He unclenched his hand slowly and frowned. Harry didn’t think he would say anything until he began speaking with a hoarse voice. “I don’t know how to behave around you. I tell myself what I’ll do and say the next time I see you and it never goes to plan. You’re unpredictable and I’m unpredictable around you. I hate it more than anything.”

Harry tightened his hand slightly around Snape’s slender wrist. Harry understood. There was fear in not knowing what to expect - in being clueless and in being impulsive. There was this weight between Harry and Snape that had always been there. It was first animosity and resentment and had now unfathomably blossomed into this strange tension and attraction that made no sense and neither of them particularly wanted. 

Harry told Snape that he forgave him and Snape told Harry that he didn’t hate him the night that this all began. But Harry wasn’t so sure of the veracity of either. Harry still resented Snape and still disliked most things about him. He didn’t think they would ever really get along. Post-War Harry liked confrontation and chaos and anger and maybe that was why Harry couldn’t stay away. 

It was as if they both sought the other out. Snape had confronted him at the Minister's party even after being antagonized by Harry earlier in the evening. Harry had trailed after him in Diagon Alley and he knew he was doing it again now. 

They didn’t like each other but something inside their bodies did. It was the strangest thing. Harry had never experienced anything like it before. Draco had said that hate sex was the best kind and perhaps there was truth to be found there. 

Harry slowly brought Snape’s wrist to his mouth. Snape’s body was rigid but he didn’t move away. Harry pressed a soft, slow kiss to the paper-thin skin. A shiver seemed to go through Snape, his lips parting. Harry traced his fingers over Snape’s open palm and pressed a kiss there, too. He moved down to Snape’s forearm, rolling up his long sleeve as he went and pressed another slow, wet kiss there, allowing his tongue to touch the skin. 

Harry looked up at his flushed face before biting softly. Snape inhaled sharply, his back arching. Harry licked over the indent his teeth left behind. He pressed a kiss to the tip of his middle finger when Harry’s name was called outside in the hall.

Snape ripped himself away, yanking his sleeve down. He moved quickly towards the floo. Harry’s name was called again, closer this time, until Blaise swung around the corner. He poked his head into the parlor only to freeze at the sight of them both. 

He blinked. “Oh, there you are, Harry. Professor Snape, I didn’t realize you were still here.” He looked between them. “You two weren’t fighting again, were you? Draco said you got into a duel just yesterday.”

Harry sighed. “You caught us. Don’t tell, Draco. We didn’t want to cause a big commotion on his birthday.”

Blaise sighed. “Really? Are you both alright?”

Snape cleared his throat roughly. “We’re fine. I’m leaving. Good night, Mr. Zabini.”

Blaise looked warily between them. “Good night, Professor. It was nice to see you.”

Snape nodded before throwing the powder into the floo. Harry raised his brow when Snape called out the Leaky Cauldron. Harry remembered that Snape’s floo was shut off but the choice was still surprising for some reason.

Blaise stepped into the room and touched his shoulder once Snape was gone. “Are you good, Harry?”

Harry smiled faintly. “I’m fine. Let’s get back before Draco has a tantrum. Sorry for worrying you, love.”

Blaise slipped his arm through Harry’s as they began walking back to the parlor. “It’s alright, but you shouldn’t fight with Snape. I know you two have bad blood but fighting with Snape is never a good idea. Trust me.”

Harry chuckled. “Have some experience with that, do you?”

Blaise smirked. “All Slytherins do....in the beginning.”

Harry laughed. “If I was a Slytherin, I would have gotten Snape to heel in no time.”

Blaise shook his head. “Let’s not ever think about you in Slytherin. My poor heart can’t even fathom it.”

Harry snickered as they strolled into the parlor. Draco glanced up. “Finally. What took you so long?”

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to know.” 

Blaise rolled his eyes and released Harry’s arm. “Nothing so fun. Potter was antagonizing the portraits again.”

Pansy scoffed. “Child.”

Draco waved his arms wildly. “Enough. It’s time for my party! To the floo!”

Harry wanted to complain that he had just been there but he knew better. Harry swung his arm around Draco’s shoulder and Draco clutched his wrist with a grin as he led them forward. 

They each vanished into the floo one by one and came out the other side into the wizarding club called Remembrall. The floors were a deep black and the walls were bright red. All of the furniture, including the bar, was a shimmering white which Harry thought was a bad idea until he considered that all of the patrons were magical. 

The owner came to greet them as soon as they arrived. Harry tried not to gag openly as the man slipped an arm around Pansy’s cinched waist. 

People started to arrive not long after and the party commenced. 

Most of the people invited seemed to be peers from Hogwarts and it was not a surprise that the majority were from Slytherin House. He recognized a few Ravenclaws and even some Hufflepuffs to his surprise, but Harry was the only Gryffindor present.

Harry was greeted enthusiastically by pretty much anyone and everyone there. He was plied with drinks and dragged onto the dance floor numerous times and he couldn’t find any reason to decline. 

He spoke to Daphne Greengrass for a while because Draco had introduced them before. She was set to marry soon and Harry wanted to die a little inside just at the prospect of marriage.

He danced with a Ravenclaw boy for a long period of time and couldn’t for the life of him remember his name. 

The drinks were delicious and he could still taste them on his tongue long after he drank them. Harry could feel the magic and the life in the air and he wished he could go to wizarding clubs more often. 

He wanted to ask Blaise to dance with him for a bit but his dreaded boyfriend was present and looked as if he were about to ward Harry off with his fingers miming a cross. Harry found Draco instead and wrapped his arms around his waist and spun him around until they were breathless and laughing. Draco leaned in to shout into his ear, “Five minutes!” 

Harry grinned. He had impeccable timing for once. Harry spun him around again before they started dancing and shouting along to the lyrics of the horrible music playing over the speakers. 

Draco clutched his hands and pulled them to a standstill. He held out his wrist and displayed the watch that Lucius had gifted to Draco on his seventeenth birthday. They began counting and as the seconds ticked down everyone seemed to gather around them. Their voices grew louder as the time remaining dropped to five seconds. 

And as the clock switched to the minute Draco Malfoy was born, the entire club screamed their joy into the air. Draco laughed in delight and threw his arms around Harry’s shoulders. 

The crowd seemed to disperse not long after - back to dancing and drinking and talking once again. Draco was still hanging onto him tightly, his breath warm against Harry’s neck as he continued to laugh. 

They were interrupted by Pansy’s hand on Draco’s arm. Harry had to clamp down on his magic as he felt dregs of it prowling sinisterly towards her. She shouted above the music into Draco’s ear, “Theo’s here!”

Draco released Harry. “Really? Where is he?”

Harry let his arms fall to his sides and stepped back. Draco grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him forward as he walked towards the right side of the club. Harry grimaced but allowed himself to be dragged along. All Harry recalled about Theodore Nott was that he was a pureblood and that his father was a Death Eater. 

Draco stopped in front of a tall figure in expensive black robes leaning against the wall. Harry remembered him being a more dull version of Draco - a bookish, entitled pureblood - but this man had light colored hair shorn close to his scalp and a sharp piece of silver dangling from his ear. His lips were full and he had a sharp nose and angular jaw set in a sullen expression. He looked fit and surprisingly mysterious. He looked like trouble and Post-War Harry seemed to love trouble.

Draco enthused loudly, “Theo! You’re here.”

He shrugged. “So I am.”

His eyes were an amber that looked almost gold in the dim lighting and they were now looking directly at Harry. Harry stared back. Draco looked between them before saying, “I’m glad you came, Theo.” He pushed Harry towards the other man. “Harry, you remember Theo from Hogwarts. Theo, you, of course, know who Harry Potter is. Why don’t you two talk? I’m going to get a drink!”

Harry opened his mouth to object but Draco quickly merged into the throng of Hogwarts students and made his way towards the bar. Harry sighed and glanced back at Nott. He too looked unhappy with the situation. Harry couldn’t say he blamed him. 

Theo slowly flicked his eyes back to Harry. “You know what he’s doing, don’t you?”

Harry raised a brow and leaned against the wall beside him with a frown. “Should I?”

Theo scoffed as if Harry had confirmed his suspicions that Harry was indeed a moron. “He’s trying to set us up.”

Harry blinked. “I’m not following.”

Theo laughed and angled his body towards him. “What a fucking surprise. Harry Potter doesn’t understand.”

Harry smiled sweetly. “What a fucking surprise. Theodore Nott is a dick.”

Nott smirked. “Malfoy wants us to hook up, idiot.”

Harry twisted his face in confusion. “What? Why? He’s never tried to throw me at people before.”

Nott shrugged casually. “Parkinson told me he was going to do this. Malfoy has said that you and I would be a good fit ever since the two of you became attached at the hip. How did that happen, by the way?”

Harry was baffled. Why would Draco have the slightest interest in the people Harry chose to fuck? More importantly, did Draco know Harry at all? How could he think Harry and this guy would be an ideal match? 

Harry already wanted to punch Nott in his stupid albeit handsome face. “Why would Draco want to set us up? We have nothing in common.”

Nott tilted his head. “Do you and Malfoy have anything in common?”

Harry paused. Did they? They both liked Quidditch and drinking. They were both severely fucked up from the war. “Look, don’t worry about Malfoy and me. I’m not interested so I’m going to-”

“You’ve gotten fit, Potter.”

Harry gaped. “What?”   
  


“Do you want me to spell it out for you? Come on, I’ll buy you a drink, golden boy.” He stalked off into the crowd and Harry was still standing there appearing dumbfounded. 

Harry finally trailed after him, weaving through the writhing bodies and dodging the outstretched hands. Nott was sitting at the bar and he pointed to the stool next to him. Harry didn’t know whether he found the confidence hot or infuriating. He sat down, running a hand through his hair. The bartender placed two shot glasses in front of them and Nott downed his with a pained grimace. 

Harry swallowed his glass with a blank expression. “Pathetic. I thought you Slytherins were supposed to be badass.”

Nott grinned. “Sorry, Potter. We’re not all so accustomed to downing what amounts to battery acid.”

“Worse than battery acid.”

Nott laughed and his dangling earring started to shake from the movement of his shoulders. Harry’s eyes kept flicking to it. “I don’t remember you looking quite like this at Hogwarts.”

Nott smirked. “You wouldn’t. The hair’s recent. I shaved it all off.”

“And the earring?”

Nott thumbed the piece of silver hanging from his ear with a humming noise. “It’s new, too. I have some more piercings but we’d have to go somewhere else for me to show you those.”

Harry raised his brows in intrigue. 

Nott snickered at his expression. “I can show you something else, though.” He rolled up the sleeve of his robe and displayed skin marked with swirling lines of black. “Is that badass enough for you, Potter? I mean, we can’t all defeat dark lords and end decades worth of internal warfare but I think it’s a pretty cool design.”

There were two writhing snakes, one barely shaded at all and one a bottomless black, trailing up the length of his forearm. Dozens of different geometric designs were interspersed along the skin between the tails. A small dragon in flight flew between the snakes’ angular heads. A painfully accurate sketch of the Whomping Willow was stretched around his upper bicep. An outline of the moon all but swallowed his elbow. 

“It’s beautiful.”

Nott cleared his throat. “Well, that’s not exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Harry looked back up at his face. “Shaving your hair only made your face clearer to see... and it’s a pretty face, Nott. Your earring glitters in the light and your tattoo looks like a painting. So, no, you don’t really look the part of a conventional badass.” 

Nott scoffed. “Fuck off, Potter.”

Harry grinned. “Your personality’s pretty badass, though. You’re confident and blunt. You don’t blush.”

Nott’s lips twitched. “I can blush under the right circumstances.”

Harry laughed in surprise. “Is that a challenge?”

Nott shifted on his stool to face him, his knee sliding up against Harry’s thigh. “Are you up for it?”

Harry grinned wider. “I don’t know. It sounds kind of intimidating.”

Nott rolled his eyes. “What do you have to be scared of, Harry Potter? Doesn’t besting Slytherins come easier than breathing to you?”

Harry smirked. “I only try to defeat the ones who’ve been naughty. Are you a bad wizard or a good one?”

Nott grinned. “How about you buy me a drink and I’ll take you somewhere and show you?”

Harry raised his hand to signal the bartender.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Theo lived in a modern loft in an upscale wizarding district. It was nice and spacey and there were floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the Thames. “Your place is nice.” 

He shrugged off his outer robe. “Thanks. Bedroom is this way. Come on, Potter.”

His bedroom had access to a balcony that showcased a nice view of the city. A king-sized bed with a black duvet took up the majority of the space. It had a matching nightstand which held a stack of books.

The walls were ivory and there were sketches and paintings and photographs pinned onto almost every square inch. Harry marveled at them. “Where did you get all of these?”

“I made them.”

Harry looked at him incredulously. 

Nott laughed quietly. “I suppose Malfoy didn’t tell you what I do for a living. I’m a tattoo artist. Well, I’m an apprentice to one, anyway. Our shop has both muggle and wizarding clientele - during different hours, of course. We do piercings, too.” 

Harry was gaping. “What the hell happened to you?”

Nott smiled ruefully. “What happened to all of us, Potter? Grief.”

Harry swallowed. “Who did you lose?”

Nott sat down on the foot of his bed. “My father died. No one knew more than myself what a bastard he truly was but I loved him nonetheless.”

Harry sat down beside him. 

Nott cleared his throat. “I always liked drawing. My father hated it and thought it was a waste of time. It became a secret of mine. I didn’t even tell a lot of people at Hogwarts. I didn’t want to be ridiculed, you know? I used to close my curtains at night and huddle on my mattress, sketching anything and everything.”

Harry reached out and traced a finger over his tattoos, sliding up one of the skeletal branches of that cursed tree. “The Whomping Willow, though? I couldn’t say I was ever too fond of it.”

Nott laughed and fisted his hand into the front of Harry’s robe before pulling him down on top of him. Harry caught himself with his hands pressed on either side of Nott’s face. “What? A force of nature that wrecks everything it touches? Don’t we all feel like that at one point or another, Potter?”

Harry stared for a moment. Nott’s eyes looked like a lion’s in that moment. He leaned down and kissed him. Nott’s hands immediately fisted into his hair. He tasted like whiskey and licorice. Harry licked into his mouth and pulled at his shirt. Nott arched his back to help him pull it off and Nott broke the kiss to whisper into his ear, “You’re going to lose your shit, Potter.”

Harry was confused as to what he meant before the dark fabric left his chest, displaying his skin. There were tiny silver studs pierced through his nipples. Harry thought he must have blacked out for a moment. 

When his focus came back, Theo was sprawled fully on the bed with not a stitch of clothing on his body. Harry was still fully clothed and Theo was crying out underneath him as Harry licked at the cold metal poking out of his skin. 

From there, it dissolved into frenzied movement and sinful noises. It was a drawn-out plethora of sweat, saliva, and other unsavory bodily fluids. When they were finished - spent and panting and still entwined - Harry had the strangest feeling. Something felt odd to him - like a tickle at the back of his mind. Theo cast a charm to clean them and collapsed beside him with a head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry laid there, reeling, as Theo fell asleep half on top of him. 

The sex was good but it rarely wasn’t. Harry liked Theo but Harry usually chose at least tolerable bed partners. Theo was his age but his bed partners were never much younger nor older than him. There wasn’t much that differed in this scenario to incite such an odd feeling in Harry and yet a deep curiosity was swirling inside him. 

It wasn’t until Harry reached his hand up to play with Theo’s hair that he understood. 

His entire body went rigid. 

Theo did not differ much from his usual...but Severus Snape did. Theo was the first person he had slept with since Harry and Snape had their ‘duel’. 

Theo’s hair was a mix between brown and blonde and shorn closely to his scalp. He didn’t have long, black hair. He wasn’t substantially older than Harry. He didn’t hate Harry or instantly regret what had happened between them, either. 

Harry exhaled shakily. It was just odd. Why was he thinking about Snape at all? Why was Harry thinking about Snape after sleeping with someone else? Maybe it was because they were both Slytherins. Maybe Harry had some kind of thing for Slytherins he was only now discovering.

It was just odd. It was odd that he could remember his encounter with Snape more vividly than what had just transpired between Theo and Harry a matter of minutes before. It was absurd that he could remember how Snape’s eyebrows furrowed and his lips parted when he orgasmed. 

It was odd that Harry deemed his dealings with Snape more intense than most of the sexual encounters he had experienced. Harry almost shivered as he remembered the way Snape looked at him earlier when Harry had placed his lips to the pulse stuttering inside Snape’s wrist. 

It was just odd. It was odd that Harry would touch Theo’s hair and be strangely disappointed that it wasn’t as black as his eyes and that it wasn’t long enough to brush his sharp collarbones. 

It was odd - that was all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for being so supportive of this fic! Your comments and kudos are my life force. I hope everyone continues to enjoy reading this. Time will start moving faster next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> pls feel free to comment! it would mean the absolute world to me. I have more of this fic already written so I would def appreciate the feedback but this fic is kinda self-indulgent lol. thank you so, so much for reading and if there any tags to add or change pls lmk. I suck at tags /: Thank you!


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